Friday, March 26, 2010

How many poems can be forged from a finite number of words?

Some questions are riddles. Forged from no-matter.

So, what’s for dinner? Now there’s a question worthy of poetry, invitation, necessity. Limited to the contents of the larder. Like poetry, a matter for play, for interpretation.

1 comment:

  1. Southerly winds
    astride the old rocking horse

    Astounding delivery
    of precious metals

    Triangular goalposts
    on the forgiving surface

    Water rages down the mountain
    The skin of spring is broken