A Poem
This is a poem
about poems
wherein the ink
floods the page
only to leave clues
in the fossil record
about the sky’s particular blue
ten thousand years ago.
This is a poem
about poets
wherein the pen
shreds reams
scattering confetti
leaving eight billion
paper dolls
crying in the night.
This is a poem
about words
wherein the dictionary
pages flutter in the breeze
where they aren’t bound
by red tape
atop the mainmast of
the schooner of my dreams.
This is a poem
about thoughts
wherein yours and mine twine
like glorious gunpowder DNA
rising through the thick dark
a tiny bubble
from the ocean floor
racing toward starlight.
This is a poem
about hunger
wherein I eat
’til I burst
but am never satisfied;
the table sports flowers
and fine china but
today’s soup is dream vapor.
This is a poem
about longing
wherein you shake your head
belly laugh at this
silly fool squandering ink
and precious wrist resources
when the obvious better use
is to endorse a check.