an epic poem in few words
contraindicated some poets say
not what a word means, but who means it.
made friends with a few brick walls learning that.
who loves me? raise your hands.
OK. no hands. let me explain.
there is a bowl. two hands cupped. see.
they nourish me when they can. when they’re full.
but the thing about nourishment, obvious isn’t it,
what nourishes is something anything outside myself.
If Wishes Were Horses, she said it first. me next.
used to be, I was a grump about being likable.
collective likable. you know, like I write from heart,
maybe I work for hours, finding rightmost words for you.
then not even the word, but an empty box, liked?
you understand – don’t mean much to me.
blah blah blah. me speaking historically.
then this writer rider I deeply admired, she’d like me.
it was not the same. one finger touch, can move a world.
the right finger. who it’s connected to.
now that’s also what I mean. me. sincere. meaning
I’ve been here. with you.