For a Small Goblet to Overflow with Dried Words

why we do what we do

I’d die to be a poet for a day

A little piece of everywhere

A sliver of big peace, being just me

 

But that’s just the figure of creation

And I’d span all of history to witness it

I’d reincarnate as w****s, beggars and kings

 

To feel it, how all the little pieces fit together

Like properties of the universe swallowed

Some through science, others in art

 

I’d kill myself to wrestle with symbols for a living

On the periphery of passion, here is my subtle orbit

Joining like fingers of hands separated, now colliding

 

Of two or more individuals, of thirsting inquiry

These were unreadable scribbles once

Love without a filter, you used to joke

 

But I thrived as someone like a spirit doing futile exercise

Alone in my private universe, mistaken in a poem

The dried flowers leave me with nothing

 

I’d die to be a poet for a day

I’m thankful I’m not a concrete signature

But a petal on forehead, a spirit in motion

 

Physics translated into language, stuck in time

 

My poem to you is a backwards readable only in the mirror

A reflection of who you are, I rotate your questions

Like vegetables on my plate, I’d die to be a poet for a day. 

Author's Note

For Courtney

Reviews

[CS]

I will die a million times in these mirrors....in reverse ;)

[Michael Kevin Spencer]

Goodbyes are so fun!