Poem: Lucky Second

 

Lucky Second

 

the clear of the mind

is the still of the room

is the quiet of angels

looking down at a blue 

much bigger than anything before,

so many aspects

to approach with words,

the effort itself a trap,

all attempts moot,

the first the last,

and yet passion rushes in 

through sheep and bones

to thrust ghosts of ink 

onto a purity of paper.

 

and so there they are

words words words

falling off pinnacles unreached,

tarred-and-feathered 

fresh only for a lucky second,

fantastical of flourish 

in the magical glissade of time.

 

words words words, 

dramas and misgivings,

promises and desperate sins, 

ideals and brazen tears

which wallow naked  

on the sheep-baahed, bone-strewn ground.

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11/18/25 eds  don't ask me what's going on .. 

7/20/24 eds