Poetry is existence: the bark

Of the primal tongue gnawed

Into the first cave’s wet clay.

I summon myself with words

Others have spoken. They offer

A bastion, a solace to live out.

Each line defines, creates tension

Between what I know and silence;

Where I am, where I leave off.

When reading late at night,

Or walking in morning fog,

I vanish into some other

Like a fish blindly mouthing

Voiceless O’s into the air.


(February 28, 2018)

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