one poem

and we find ourselves falling into its pages 
tucking ourselves between stanzas as silk 

pillowcases. two days later we’re still here 
three sheets to the (whirl)wind drunk 

on phrase for another four days. gimme five
minutes and i’ll tell you each rhyme-and

-rhythm’d tale, the scale of it all in metered 
(bare) feet. we could take it to the streets

busk it loose and free, but nobody’d believe
us. so just leave us here six, seven syllables deep

and we’ll scribble our way up, turn an eight 
on its side and ride it all the way to infinity. 

written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.