I re-read yesterday's post, and marveled at my lousy use of language. So, in keeping with that theme, here is this month's poem.
The Poem Can Fail
I worry the words:
have I put them in the write order,
matched the noun and dangled a worthless article,
made the phrase active or passive,
a complete thought or incomplete concept;
have I taken that nebulous grey idea in my head
and used two dimensions of letters and paper
to transform the same thought in your head?
I worry the words to death,
I obliterate and rearrange them
until the whole frame disappears.
I’m sorry, I failed to tell you the story;
lost in translation,
vanished from my own moving paint,
edited away by an overly sharp pen.