A Poem Is This

Is this a poemman going away
or just words
flying by like
red-winged birds
the days are light
and old men sight
the openings
and closings

and hold
the prize
like old sold
soiled spoiled
well-worn ties
owned by simple
foreign spies
seeing subways
both ways

You could say
or you could not
put the children
in the slot
and make them
laugh a lot
when you say
you have a snot
that you forgot

If you really love me
really, really love me
won’t you sally
across my fields
tasting my grains
of wheat and corn
and not leave me lonely
shorn and forlorn

This is not a poem
it’s just words
like your love
not love at all
breathing practice
in the hall
toward the stairs
going up
or going down

A forgery is being played
a bright light in the shade
making children giggle
while you snicker
and feel astute
and rather cute
because I lost you
like this poem
a long time ago









A Poem Is This

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