(no subject)
Nov. 28th, 2017 05:08 pma poem
It seems to me I often start
Inchoate
Reaching for words, for meaning
To embody seed, shoot, branch, bud
Of something stronger than words
Deeper than I can shape
But reaching still
Stretching into shape, curve, rhythm
It’s
A helluva a way to write
Translating the thing inside
So whole in itself
Into what makes story
On the page
Alive in others
Clean outlines, by the numbers, have never
Worked for me
I guess inchoate, reaching
Is where I have to be