poetry
is the ability
to strike someone once
and have the sound resonate
inside them forever

prose
is describing the sound
with more resonances

70

“Arcturus” is his other name—
I’d rather call him “Star.”
It’s very mean of Science
To go and interfere!

I slew a worm the other day—
A “Savant” passing by
Murmured “Resurgam”—”Centipede”!
“Oh Lord—how frail are we”!

I pull a flower from the woods—
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath—
And has her in a “class”!

Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat—
He sits ***** in “Cabinets”—
The Clover bells forgot.

What once was “Heaven”
Is “Zenith” now—
Where I proposed to go
When Time’s brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.

What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I’m ready for “the worst”—
Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the “Kingdom of Heaven’s” changed—
I hope the “Children” there Won’t be “new fashioned” when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—

I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl—
Old fashioned—naught—everything—
Over the stile of “Pearl.”

Is half the truth a lie? Or is it perspective.

You asked for my heart
so I hesitantly gave it,
Afraid of what would happen,
I just decided to brave it.
Singing softly along side your voice,
I started to fall as if I didn't have a choice.
Then you went in reverse
and you took it all back,
You grabbed my heart
and just tossed it into your stack
of all the hearts you don't care to wound,
I couldn't have learned of this too soon.
I'll see you around,
and I'm glad we aren't a thing,
because your smile is deceitful,
and your words just sting.

Why can't he fall in within the others?
Why does he stand out like a perched willow tree aching for deep attention?