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...