Poetry Wall

It came in sections, as most things do...donated from there, purchased from here. Drilled, painted, squared and hung. And what I thought was going to be the most comforting and beautiful thing, looked rather helter skelter, and my mind just cascaded around the edges with no intent of joining in. So I uprooted anchors, and hauled it down the hall, where it is in a somewhat more manageable chaos. It beckons without imploring. It rattles, but causes no deafness. My poetry wall stands at my entrance and exit, which just about sums it up.

Poetry

We are all so crushable, some of us eloquent.

And that's not even the right word.

So...arterial?

The pulse of every beat,

joy, peace, loss, grief

the unbearable, the unimaginable

our one.true.life sustained in letters.

Sometimes we get it just right, nick a jugular,

raise our hands to the drenching of blood rain

or we are dry,
the words of our bones
toothpicks.

.

.

.

.