“A poem is like a tickle, it gives both joy and pain: with blissful tears and tearful giggles, you'll read that poem again.
A poem is exactly like a damaged heart in need of surgery: a cut that heals, a line that leaves a scar along your heart.” F. L. <~>
I, now in possess of said thin red line, where they cut me just so, opened stem to stern for a rethreading repair, a repaving of the highways & byways of my little blue engine that almost but couldn’t quite could but thought… b e l i e v i n g it could eke by for a little longer
new observable routine, first item of my daily rising now includes a pre-diurnal poetic extraction~*******~ejection, an intro~introspection of an introductory, petite reflexive contemplative reflection of life’s mysteries, like enjoying that first bang of eye~opening conscious breath and a disruptive need to spill a few verbal beans before the daily dead~lines of to do’s strangle me into oblivion
a morning dispatched by the poet paperboy on his cardio bicycle
with tearful eyes, and many mirthful gaggles of giggles