What is it anyway?
The faith that whatever occurs
is as reasonable a thought
as what does not.
The looping lilt
the loopy smile,
a heavy lift on less
inspired days.
This, get-out-of-the-way
but- stay- nearby- push
and pull of
lines that so want
to be included
but don’t quite belong.
This tendency
to storify the
shitty, first draft
world in long
skinny
lines,
drive a chariot
through chaos
and emerge
blinking and
breathless.
Definitions are many.
Most escape me.
I just know it’s
a hand to hold
through the
meta matrix
of a lifetime.
Wild stillpoint.
Prism of light.
Early Morning Poems 