
I try to hear a word in passing,
And pause, looking back
To you,
“Word-Hoarder”
tapping that
Space,
Between breaths,
Silence,
before noise,
matter,
My mind
A surreal zone
Trapped in rough bark,
Plunging in
a vision without emotion,
Stunted roots without time to sprout.
How do I live without love,
How do I feed my heart
Without poetry,
A barren limb alive without living,
An Empty cavern dark without phrases,
A broken chant without sound or meaning.
I ask, I demand drumbeats
Driving sharp spikes inward,
Bleeding roots ripping spirals
Of heart breaking turf’s fresh soil,
Up-turned earth ploughing
Unmarked graves of words,
Gutted and unburied.
There is no place to turn but you,
A sleeping phantom of deep seed knowing,
An ancient tree with severed branches growing,
An awakening of a thousand sunrises glowing red
Chanting on the tip of a copper tongue,
Shaking free a universe of stars for words,
Pleading with an empty bowl,
Please,
Poetry for food that my heart might be fed.
March 22, 2014