this poem is the alpha
(dog
-gerel)
-bet against the house,
the unquiet mouse
(or wheel)
who squeaks first.
at worst, it’s a squawk
-stab in the dark, a tent
-ative spark to start
something new. a cool
blue sky awaiting
scribble.
wiggle it a little. giggle
to the moon, she’ll swoon
you into some scribe-sway,
some way to connect-the-dot
stars to make these phrases
ours.
draw a starting line. draw a
small fine string for a kerned
-kite opening, a magic wand
-ering fling.
let it wonder-wander awhile.
let it smile.
let it style
itself against the cracked
-egg horizon glow. let it know
it might never be finished,
but will never dim
-inish the ember within.
hold your horses,
your breath,
your pen.
and let’s begin.
::
In November, we poem. And on the 30th, we finish. Whew.
De — May the joy of the season fill your heart here at the closing if the year 2021, and may peace abide in 2022. This is a most difficult time for our planet earth, and a time of turmoil for its peoples. May 2022 begin the way back! ✌🏼❤️🌎
Thanks so much, Rob.