Poem

Poetry comes from the body, all of it, transmitted with marks on stone, scratches on paper, is kept alive to transcend time and space, reflects the rhythms of flesh and natural life, is intimate, is cold, is a message in a bottle, offends, comforts, and terrorizes with its blade, dispels falsehoods, guides the self to deep and personal interiors, makes music out of air and tongue, lights a single candle in the cavern, strips away the skin, bleaches the bones white, tells the true and untold stories of the heart, and for a moment, liberates that which we cannot define.