"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Friday, April 1, 2011


It's day one of the Poem-A-Day Challenge:
Prompt #01: No Narrative

It's hard to imagine an emptier
vessel, something that once
contained so much of you,

all of you, stood up and
straightened out, thrones lifted
on your shoulders for everyday kings.

To what end is our labor?
A lonely buckle prescribes no
relief, but sucks dry what it can.

So let the pieces walk on their own -
intervention is no more than sick foreplay,
gleaming yellow tongues wagging in misuse.

Level with me: It was your intention
all along, wasn't it? To leave ghosts
in the fibers, and carry out my solid ground?

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
TV on the Radio, Staring at the Sun

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