Well Enough Alone

Unexploited muses,

satisfied arrangements –

the side-of-the-road chair I painted orange

just to see it painted orange

now decorates the patio

not doing a damn thing

but hosting hardened careless drips.

The singular instant before poem –

spontaneous, coffee-hour visualization,

amorphous near-substantiation in dramatic color –

was so much more than these moldy characters in black and white.

As if riderless horses doubt their own alacrity 

or hushed secluded fields wouldn’t flower without us,

wouldn’t erupt into undulating rainbows sans some asshole snapping pictures

with his intelligent phone.

But unwritten poems

gnaw at our bones we believe,

strip us of our senses,

to stand naked like naïve lovers,

desperate to fill the silence.

And after we have spoiled the moment with syllables and limits,

corrupted in with labels,

we run around madly,

desperate to show this disfigured thing

to anyone who will pay us in pennies or compliments.

Published by

Poetry Super Highway

February, 2014