Pretend a moment that you’re me and write a poem I might see. Pretend a moment that you’re me.
Pretend a moment that I’m you. Pretend I read your poem through. Pretend what happens when I do. Are you pretending? Good. Me too.
Pretend the poem tells a tale of wooden ships with painted sails. Pretend the sky, the salty breeze, the creak of decks, the swelling seas, the cutlass singing past your ear! Quick! Pretend us out of here!
Pretend the road. Pretend the trees, the horse between your grasping knees, the flashing river at your side— Ride neck and neck with hounds from Hell! Pretend, at least, we live to tell!
Pretend the West, the dust, the gold. Pretend the sleeve. The ace it holds. Pretend the six-guns drawn at noon! Pretend we’re somewhere else! And soon!
Pretend the sky, the sunset sea. Pretend the dunes, the grass, a tree. Pretend you’re walking there with me. Pretend the gulls that dot the swells. Pretend the tales tomorrows tell.
Shall we pretend eternity? Shall we pretend to dream?
. Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)