Congratulations, You Are Now A Poet
I hesitate a moment, pick the Königsblau fleece to keep me toasty in the rain. A whale swims around the room looking nearly the color of her favorite currant. My hands get longer. Dwell on what’s changing in your body and you start to stare at corners. We came to have fun but now we’re stuck in society, are becoming its furniture. They call it the “waiting room,” but what are we waiting for? While we’re here, would we not like to learn about homes, children, a whole way of life? Perhaps not. Will it make us feel foreign or explain the point of our jobs? The raw edge of the world chafes us, so does banality. Stillness rips the view and makes us pay. When I think of the earth I think of our story declined on the tongue. It is a catalog of undergarments and fish tank supplies.
Our Lips Impatient To Taste
Lifting the banquet out of the hole we look around: Quixote is confused and Dante cries. The leaves fall on the porch. The ants rejoice. No one is thankful for more rain in May but the Earth smiles and swallows more and never gets fat. I don’t know why water sounds that way. How can it make puddles? There is no way for drops to collect. The easiest road to success is not to complain, and to make your joy neutral and clear until the lightning kisses your hat. Light flies through the atmosphere when the sky is old. Stronger than storms, we descend the hill.
Coreopsis
Seniors analyze a book in a Buddhist garden all of their gray heads one white flame. The first man executed by electric chair was a murderer with a heart of coreopsis. It bloomed magnetic oceans composing music. His dying body withdrew its ghostly hands, tiny nebulae full of quotes greeting his descending soul, and the fragrance drifted to a Greek harbor where three women peered from the Coign of Vantage, one leaning out wreathed in laurels of violet and white.
Notes: “Congratulations You Are Now A Poet” follows the Logopoetics III prompt.
Art: Egon Schiele, “Portrait of the Painter Hans Massmann”; Lawrence Alma-Tadema, A Coign of Vantage