these Werds are inadequate
just a scribbled attempt . . .
moans the Poet over his breakfast eggs
they come out so quiet
might
as
well
be
a
silent yell of breath
the Poet looks at the uneven prongs on his fork
but such breath
such yelling would only
invite
dull
questions . . .
and the Poets eyes widen in fear questions . . . but
they can question the Poet
but they cant ask the Poem
the Poet cries in victory in vanity (?)
and the Werds had purpose once again
like distance
like stone
and freed the poet Wrote of animals ;
now these quiet animals
naked and woolly
have the dignity of weather green statues
in their living silence
in their unattempted poise
and
there is mystery enough
i think
in their multipurpose bleats
they speak hard with their huge eyes
and with
honest and easy
and unapologetic
habit
and appetite
and action
and the Poet laughed all the way to brunch
from www.tvtropes.org
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