Not a Word
Not A Word
homage to Sarah Teasdale
the poem has no beginning
bright iambic molecules escape
the empty net of language
ambition arcs through abstract ink clouds
wordless shadows scrape the broken house
upstairs there's a novel unfolding
syllables like dollars piling up
it's good therapy
the poetic hole punched through
swept up and patched to look like new
each revision stalls in silence
cold pronouns underline me
the poem unwritten
holds a book above my head
it's Sarah smiling softly
the moon is in her bed
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