I need poetry
I fumble for words,
shallow vowels, grubby surds.
I think I need poetry.
Little abstractions, some nausea,
a fling – if you say so,
a minor fight,
or may be, just some sad poetry.
Tiny mutations, and
the world turns gray, plants flower anti-flowers,
people die, and wake up in dreams,
in one huge dream – Nolan’s dream,
and nobody utters no words
and burn in word-less purgatory.
every hour, if you insist it’s slow,
anybody can be anybody, everybody!
And nobody’s got no tales
tall or short – whatever.
I am who I am -
word groper, literary loner,
un-trailed like snowman’s feet
asking for few words, and skill
to blaze them into poetry!