Germination
You write a poem
write another
and several more
then you pen a poem
that has you talking to yourself
rising up and out of your chair
staring at the words
thinking art, checking craft
you start walking
pacing
back and forth
the hand on your hip
posturing a bit of attitude
(be)cause you just might be right about the poem
your other hand’s orchestrating molecules of air
to the beat of the piece’s syncopated rhythm
'n your liken’ the rhymes within its lines
how they turn in your mind
you give some thought to their sinuous grace
and you’d like to check these facts
with that everyday face
at three a-m
but he lives on a different planet
in an opposite space
where I love you is a voodoo incantation
and passion is relegated nine to five
and taking calls
which brings you back to the page
but not to the chair
that frustrated hand
still on your hip
the other disturbing atoms of air
over puddles of unused ink
in a subliminal breach
of unanswered silence
And the heart ticks
while the word beats
at the door of a mind
some distance away...
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