Email Poem

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Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
this,
is all there is---
this page, this typeface, these words, 
shot out amongst the surface as a leaf blower might,
if that mechanism inside 
which is used to suck up a plethora of leaves,
malfunctioned &
all of the leaves that had been captured prior,
now blow out 
all over the yard---
imagine all those gorgeous leaves
of ever-so-fragile substance 
now drained of their
chlorophyll---
replacing the once homogenously dominant
green with the
heterogeneously multifarious,
mosaic & motley
crew of
flushed fuscias, glowing garnets,
amazing amaranthines, alluring ambers,
lusciously light lemons, perfect peaches
& terrific titians     
(to name a few)---
and the person doing the leaf blowing gone awry,
that person’s closest friends and family, all the
work & social connections between them,
the history of their prospective movements 
from location to location
(stirring up the sands of life every-which-way, elsewhere),
the offspring, the creative endeavors, the successes & the
failures, the hobbies & the committed life’s work, the 
family trips & all the connections found within, the trips
alone & the deep introspection, the slowing down, the
graying of the hair, the loss of the hair, the taking it all
at your own pace,
finally,
and then the distinct
perfect
peace
that comes with it all
ceasing---
without consequence,
without any greater meaning,
without allegiance to any force or
entity outside oneself & their own
pursuits---
when it had all ground so quick you were certain the
gears would have gone
years before---
but the individual disappears &
the personality can be only found
in the stamp of memory which 
dwells in the actions & the words of
their journey---
while those still living take the bits &
pieces that they want to, discard the 
rest,
and pass on the story that you have
written without picking up a 
pencil, without sitting down at the
computer, without a care about the
typeface, the words, 
or that pesky 
leaf blower.
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