serendipity

as a poet you must live

by your own terms

write poems

not by instruction

boxed in a beige classroom

but in the open air

whether urban or rural

 

as a poet you must breathe

hard before inspiration arrives

but it cannot be forced

a sign must come

most likely as a familiar

bird who lands before you

and tilts its little dinosaur head

questioning your intent

because the right words

won’t come unless you mean them

 

as a poet you must rest

easy after a productive day

even if only a handful

of lines were birthed

even if it seemed

like serendipity

slipped away

fluke

pronunciation: “flooooook”

a noun for fortune

for every word uttered

on the television

every ten word song

written by seven songwriters

every poem written by a robot

or under the influence

of mechanization

 

or, creation via fluke

allowing the truth

to bubble up thru the surface

 

or, a parasite

or, a fish

depends on who you ask

 

a fluke is not a nuke

a fluke is not a matter

of life or death

 

like the last shot you took

or the first time you have sex

 

human civilization is a fluke

and we’re happy for it

 

etymology: parasites

is the common consensus

among scientists

suspension snapped

a bridge painted the same color

as the sky fears its own lack

of identity, staring down into the dark

water beneath its belly

its steel spine itchy from all the vehicles

that traverse its body

the metal pests rub rubber

against its skin

the bridge loathes its condition

and yet its purpose is clear

and it accepts its position with patience

until an earthquake or whirlwind

snaps its suspension and frees it

haunt memory

an infant’s eyes

and what’s behind

how about when love’s denied

for the first time

the longing for milk

that look of anger

will it haunt memory

at what age will judgement

seize the child

the separation

the absence

the labeled cardboard boxes

filling the otherwise empty room

 

this is the change

that does not come about

 

this is the thought

of forgiveness lost

 

to the void

 

and yet love remains

even if it’s battered and abstract

feeling built into

any human being native to a city

transported to the same space

fifty years before

would be lost

 

an alien world where if they’d stay

they’d never be themselves

 

could it be that structures

influence thoughts

that brick  and mortar

project emotions independent

of any presence

 

that feeling is built

into creation