it’s baffling,
the way the poetry forms.
one day, there are no words
and you’re left in silence.
the next day, you’re exploding;
firewords streak the sky and stain the clouds with ink

it’s intriguing,
the infinite possibilities of a poem

    d  the words up, then b
   l                                                r
  i                                              e
u                                                  a
b                                                        k   them down

spin the letters
         r    r
     o           o
u     and       u
   n             n
        d    d

it’s magical
how a few simple lines can be made into a work of art
it just depends
on the how the w o r d s
are   a
        r
                   r
     a
               n
          g
   e
                      d.

ah, poetry is its own magic.