Rich With Poetry

I have always felt rich with poetry-- hoping my crop of words, will be sustenance for others as well as myself, and sometimes a decadent dessert found when sniffing and tasting the delicacies (a literary buffet)…. Of course, this is about my physical and not my spirit, the enigmatic conjecture behind all art and movement for that matter; though we only have ourselves and the selves of other believers as support, science unwilling to accept anything that doesn’t bite them in the asses or spin them like tops whether down or up…. As if anything, truly exists outside ourselves having slept the many histories of my creation… when I close my eyes this time and the mystery of my beating heart stilled, I doubt that a delicate wing would ever again take flight, nor a blossom open, enchanted by sunlight….