vague poetry

   it .... commands

and

   it lingers mystery.

     intrigue is

my blood,

         intrigue me? .....

my heart - mind pours out

      like a flood.

in script,

    question marks

litter and

        canvas my work.

       in the soul of

the right reader,

  these

        question marks

      will certainly

  no longer lurk.

       sure we poets,

leave ends open

          with nary an

intent of closing.

     mystery and intrigue

is our oxygen,

       and never ending muses

   forever posing.