I, the poet: make a handsome lawn ornament.

Priced clay.

Observe—question—provoke—apply

a penetrating mind and a gentle hand:

record your thoughts on

a handful of flesh.

Mineral-laced: wrap your tongue around it long enough.

Savor each layer of flavor, say, aaaaaah, then blow

some zephyr my way; since these days I

breathe and words burn:

     perverse parolees scribbling,

laughing unto death, banging the world

as if it were their head, as if paper were pennies

for all their heads, making the personal truth objective

as a penny is.

                        Freshen the latent reader’s

currency, dole out your spare pounds as form

and shine. Attract the cagey crow’s eye

and each eye that falls: not just the urn

but the unheard rhyme.

03/07/2009

Author's Note: by maria, terry, barbara, vere, erica, john, amanda, jennifer, tracy, bryn, jon, paige

Posted on 03/07/2009
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