Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Today is not for poetry

Today is not for poetry,
it is for the mundane habits
like long sleep, procrastination and worry
and ailing health at eighteen, today is the day of growing
pains out of the back of sandpaper
it is the same proposition for anything
other than the creation of words out of sand
like sandcastles and stones, you pick them out of your fingernails
these creations are fragile,
these are things that can be easily washed out
with salt, vinegar and a little bit of water for the wounds

today is not a day for poetry
because poetry prompts the creation of beauty
and I wake with a disaster each day
fresh like cream it piles up
mounding like a snowball at the back of my head
my lack of passion is a disaster in the making

today is not a day for poetry
it is for my earthy desires,
for making a meal out of old spices alone
today is a day of celebration of givers of joy
like chocolate, and dance and reading
but today is not a day for poetry because
poetry comes light and goes heavy
the same way a rock falls into a pound
falls light on itself, falls thick on the murky waters.

No comments:

Post a Comment