poetry comes and goes
opens and flows
spills into streams of prose
amidst the musical rows of my thoughts.

forms and rhythms
which melt and morph and sing into being
the abstractions of synaptic connections,
write into existence
the chemical signals of neurotransmitter gossip,
and transfer to the Symbolic
the electrical impulses of the Real

scratch and peel the caulk
from the edges of The Faucet,
turn and wind the wheeled handles open,
open, open.
Past lefty loosey and into
the outpouring of pent up pressure;
raw, and juicy.

Poetry is ***, death and magic.
The art of training the mind's faucets
elastic.