poem churning I – 03 mar 2002

 

a fact it is: that in your absence

i write a lot; but when you're near

i keep scribbling and your sight clear

lights my way with often permanence.

 

a pact it is: that for your presence

i traded my soul, so as to keep in gear

the brain engines that, without pain or fear,

regurgitate poems to the redolence

 

that once you left in my dark den,

keeping my nostrils full, and making

my eyes see you, day and night, when

 

they but spy the places you've been

and moved through and let, for the taking

a ghost that can by mind alone be seen.