At The Ends Of Your Stanzas

be careful

when you

invite new

metaphors

into your

fresh built

box of a poem.

a small

house is

perfect

or a poet

that has

few silver

words left

in their

pocket.

lower case

is cheaper

than uppercase.

as you nail

penny-nails

with your

wobbling

flat head

hammer;

simpleness

into

all your

lines.

be careful

metaphors

can act

like

miniature

tigers.

some

of the

metaphors

want to start

problems

to scratch

at your

floorboard

& swing from

your curtains

with their

sharp

retractable claws

& climb

on your

window panes

& leave

their nose-prints

impressed

on each

window

in each

of your

stanzas.

take the

broom

& chase

the troublesome

ones out

past the door jams

of your poem.

keep the

few

metaphors

that are

asleep

at the

hearth.

the similes

you scattered

as a homecoming

blessing

turn into

see-through

butterflies

& flap

their wings

in symmetry

of beats

up the

wainscot

the sparrow

of your

voice

awakes on

the swinging

perch of

your small simple

birdcage

& begins

to chirp

& the

symbols

hiding in

the nooks

& crannies

come to your

table to steal

crumbs & slices

of green cheese

that you

have sliced

quietly

from

the moonrise

slowly

forming

like onion skin

in the

lightbulb

you keep

dutifully hidden

in your head.

symbols squeak

and the metaphors

dream

of goldfish

swimming

in the periods

the little bowls

you

place

in kindness

at the ends

of your stanzas.

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