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

 

 

 

 


©Literati Magazine 1999-2020. All rights reserved.


 

 

 

 

 

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.