What is it
we have learned
from pebbled songs?
We are word warriors forming sacred
battle lines just in (case)time for our
brokenness to find a place to feel
(g)rounde(d);lay its small unquiet
secrets. We have a craving for carving
some grooves into the world that weren’t
quiet here before, poem-portraits that might
warn us, warm us, save us from the dangers
of all this storied skin. We ripple a rhyme
just in time to hear it shed its own regret.
We fool our kin, and show our ken.
We open palms. We brabble on.
We are full of cutting words, the high of
(counting)-coup. The way the seasons
make us touch, taste, smell, rebel against
a butterscotch sun. The unformed grace
of these meanderlings that won’t stop
flowing, clacking black beetled juice
against a snow-white page. Are we
in love with all this ink? Do we think
it will baptize us in the end, a wave
of complicated brave that makes us
what we are? We report in smudgy
fingers and negotiate our thrones:
Poetic Asides April PAD Challenge, day 29. This is the one with all the prompts.