windrag : poetry : journal

the paradox of the poet:
in the constant attempt
to make this human experience
more legible

and thus bring more closeness
between one’s closest relations
one often makes oneself
odd, unrecognizable

to the very hearts one wants to join.
it’s not their fault:
it’s just their way.
they are not actually doing anything.

be gentle with the poets among us:
try to notice, while they are alive,
a moment, when you describe something
in a way surprising to yourself.

Jupiter, Luna, Saturn, Altair, Lyra;
the scuttlebutt about you falls
on deaf ears, here. on this doorstep, you shine,
and are free to be yourselves.

sometimes i wish my
heroes would practice a bit
at my house, for once

be honest. what will
draw you down the wrong path. guilt?
or something tasty?

you can move the words
around, or you can get right,
and then, say something.