Poetry Is a Metaphor I
Poetry’s a sniper’s bullet in the chamber of a gun.
Just waiting to be shot out, so it can hit someone.
Sometimes it completely misses, sometimes it hits its mark
and if the shooter’s good enough it’ll go straight to the heart.
Poetry’s a booger in your nose so pick it.
You can share it with someone or roll it up and flick it.
You’re digging for a winner, a good one comes as a surprise.
That’s when you wipe it on the wall for someone else’s eyes
Poetry is precipitation and in the clouds it turns to rain.
It can either lightly drizzle or storm down a hurricane.
Some days there are floods, some days there are droughts.
And combined with some love and light can bring the flowers
Poetry’s a pig trough when it’s shiny and new.
It gets filled with people’s slop because that’s what pig troughs do.
Some days it’s filled half way and some days it’s to the top.
It doesn’t matter what’s put in because the swine will eat it up
Poetry is sperm and it contains so much power.
Sometimes it comes out and stays in the shower.
But sometimes it gets used like when a husband’s with his wife.
And if it swims to the right place it will create a whole new life.
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