There Will Be Poetry Here

There will be poetry here
if that scares you
or turns you off
I imagine your life
must be an empty box
and I'm scared for you, too

but I know you just haven't
realized what your mind finds
when it escapes
where your body goes
when it comes back.

You love poetry
You do!

No?

You turn on the radio
and nothing happens
only a stiff silence
no changing tune

You open your door
to a comatose world
the river, the birds,
the grass,
all motionless

The occasional swoosh
of late evening trips
escape your ear
there is no traffic here
Nobody is going anywhere

You reach out your hand
and feel only the unreliable void
of a pitch-black starless night
drowning without a pool
an eternity of being dropped
and there is nothing to fall back on

Your helpless hands
only want something to hold on to
Your hands want to save you...

Well mine do, too

Poetry is a familiar sound
you don't realize
you need
to fall asleep

It is where you put your feet
after a long day of living
and it IS the living
the dying
it is the cool water
flying
off the palms
to console a heated face
after an afternoon of crying

We all need to be saved
a thousand different ways
for thousands of repeated days
So your hands try to help you

Well mine do, too

There will be poetry here
You can take that as a warning
or an invitation

I hope you'll stop by