Thursday, September 26, 2019

Imagine this pond

from the goldfish's perspective.  Or the rocks's.  Or the flowering lilies.  At home, consider the meal from a fork's perspective.  Tell me, is a poem under the surface of a blank page and the pen needs only to sculpt away until all which is left is essence?

1 comment:

  1. there is no audience but the dry and dusty air, clear of pretext
    ancient is the scent of pinion as we sleep, drawing down the ghosts
    burned of any layers of meaning they come howling
    across the plains