Standing on my Hands
if i read you my poem
silently
will you hear all the
dumb dumb
in between the spaces
where the divine
touchés
amusing you, telling you
to share
what you saw in the dark
believe me
there is always more
and those aficionados
who believe
blindly
that their words belong to them
only
how blessed we are
to be almost
remote
and to spin our wheels
within
and without each other
and yet
we pay each other a debt
as we turn over
Spring seeds of poetry
hand to hand
i’ll digress
while standing on my hands
my fingerprints
in beach sand, in primordial goop,
on the moon and sun,
on everyone
if you read me your poem
silently
i’ll hear all the
dumb dumb
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