Friday, August 01, 2008

The Last Day of Poetry

we were detained and wordless / directed
to an island where waves washed ashore
no new ideas alive /we were

questioned concerning the glue we used
to bond one word to the next / and how a line
drawn on downtown sidewalk could become

a soul riding storm clouds / we were
inn guests in an innless world / abandoned
on a pier / brushed aside like a spider’s web

which stands between one point and the next
on everyman’s walk through time / we were
the sweaty dream on an August night

that pushes a wedge between a dollar
and the sound of the perfect word
dancing with the perfect note

we were misunderstood

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