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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4509 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention When the Bucket is Full with a Slow Leak Gary Blankenship I drown in poets. They pull me like starfish grab at oyster shells They push me like time shoves seastacks into the rift. * Everywhere, I go I am surrounded by poets. They hide in sticky bushes to leap out and poke me with fermented lines. They sit in rafters to swoop down and lay web-wrapped words in my hair. They huddle under bleachers and smoke rhyme cut with instructions from software manuals. They lie in gutters and demand I float with them through sewer outfalls and powerlines. * I smother in poets. They cover me like smog covers San Fernando. They shroud me like an avalanche in the Negev. * I am left with little choice, one choice or none. Allergic to fermentation, lead, shellfish, pollen, spiders and evening sun, I must join them and become a feather lost in the ionosphere. |
