Z I G G Y  D I C K S




I fell into poetry

a great idle work

and I never stumbled

in digging truffle words


The world lay, dog eared

legible on cheap paper

all else was virguled silent

or interrobanged away


Now, I eat guilt as a comma

a pen slip, barely noticed

sinking as enjambment

into my white space


Words are breathed

as a finger pressing

quietly across a page

I stammer aloud syllables


My voice was a noun

today, it is pronounced

bellows sheer verb

projects three words

the last a concrete you





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