Your Majesty #TuesdayPoetics

Always pointed

in words and pose.

 

Perfect poise,

perfect response,

perfect timing.

 

Held yourself

above the rest of us.

 

My own feet

too leaden.

 

My words dropped

like iron anchors

through deck

and hull.

Took the ship down

with me.

 

You reached

or so I thought

when I grasped

for your hand.

 

You were simply gesturing

to the view beyond.

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Stone Seed

I lost the end of myself somewhere near the start,

among the scattered sheets of blotting paper

sprung up on iron girder stalks.

Parchment alliums staked out like skeletons,

petals more like teeth,

 

poems in the stems of them,

but no air for the words to breathe.

 

 

Between the leaves the stanza’s curled,

coppered, golden, burnt and burnished,

rhythm rolling hollow in the echos,

tongue twisted through the skirmish

as syllables clattered in and out

silver toothed, thick lipped, broken.

Turned over once, then twice, then thrice,

poetic promised poured and stolen.

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