free write

{more it’s not}

 

..

this poem is neither
free nor blank;
it’s shackled, smudged
in inky sway and star
-stung sky. it’s dash
and dot, jot and tittle.
riddle. rhyme. time
unraveled into rows
and prose and who
knows where it might
go. it’s costly. bossy.
blindly clacking. backing
itself into corners too
deep. it’s steep, and
shallow. sallow in the
way of veins, stained
stumbled skin. it’s free
-zing, squeezing ice from
quill. spilling. stilling
heart and breaking will.

this poem is all fill,
and flow. fum
-bled know and sacred
now. it’s tattered truth
and battered bull.

it’s empty promise,
paid in full.

..

 

In November, we poem.