2 a.m.

Who said that poetry bends its sturdy bark over salty seas?
Who found poetry in a garden,
Lush and wrapped around fingers of life protruding from the soil?
Who is it that found poetry,
In the musical bass of bombs in 1939?
Amidst the tingling of cries and the thunder of tears...
Heavy with the burden of... poetry

In waves of several hundred thousands to several millions
Poetry pollinates the open womb of my mind.
In spite of soft kisses in dark places...
In spite of soft killings on holy grounds...
Poetry is the escapist chained to the anchor of reality.
The yellow brick road into stimulation.
The red bandanna of guerrilla love.

Who is it that flavoured the world with poetry?
Sucking on God's lips...
Where is the poem that stained the world?
Trickles of piss on the edge of the Universe;
A place called earth.
There is an invisible hand,
Plucking at the heart strings,

There is an unseen mouth chewing on dreams.
And there is an impossible thing called poetry...
Feining kisses...
Enslaving the senses.

Reviews

[Jason Henry]

"Poetry pollinates the open womb of my mind"
it just doesn't get any better than that line right there. that's poetry.

[Emily B]

poetry is all these things

this is big stuff