the next one

on to the next poem

and the next and the next

let fear keep you from revision

because then you might actually love

but you mustn’t let your heart

so close

as to possibly face a wound

you see,

i see that the stars move far apart with a wave from your hands

my wounds are cleansed with a taste from your lands

let fear keep me from revision

so i may never become too attached to a poem

and know it fully all around

every word

forwards and backwards

every line break

and stanza

can recite for memory

what i see–i see what i see

i know it’s not boredom

that keeps my heart at bay

it’s the fear of being told i am and will

be loved

and then being


that keeps me away

self sabotage

is my middle

and i have yet to realize


a poem                                                                        is not only linear

but every letter moves itself about, multiplies, rearranges, breaks, repairs, innovates, manipulates form and texture and evolves itself, explores itself, and restores itself

a poem is not a series of lines

it is a breath

let it draw you in



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