|
No poetry here
I must steal it
No peace
I pretend I don't need it
No soul
I can't hear it cry
The Queen desires a poem
No concept of hard realities
Concrete cakes under my nails
No poetry here
This is not the same mind
No disappointing royalty
The music of language
Does not ring in my ears
Anything for my queen
Thief
***
There is the poem writing itself
That is not the poem I write.
The poem writes itself a new language.
I write familiar idiom.
The poem knows itself.
I pretend it does not exist
until I write it.
***
This work matters, too.
copyright 2003
Melissa
Fischer |
