my knees fail from rage
In spiteful software
denied from this control
indecisive in nature
another vomitorium
for this spinning circus
numbed and numbered by its own denied
repeating confiscations
soured by the winks of time
blink in its divine contempt
scattered by design
the shards that kill what's left
into its trophy mine
And you will never see the end
For all the planning
and learned preparation
poetry remains part
mystery
a write only dimly solvable
a poet wisely advised to
proudly accept
all credits, while adhering failures
to sacrificial muses,
the lambs should
be accustomed by now
to writers’ confiscations
and slanders
our best definition:
poetry~ likened to love --
fond works
pinned to the heart
stapled to the velum
of high flying clouds~
hopefully
ascending
for safe keeping
and reunion
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