The word of the day is: Ingenious
– cleverly inventive or resourceful
Sometimes I’ll look at a word and I’ll think
“Oh, that’s ingenious”
Already melancholy in mourning
over having forgotten it
Honking once while I’m blasting it
– windows down, repeat on –
merely flying right past it
with a speed that surpasses free recall
I’ll throw my hand out too late;
out of reach and can’t grasp it
Both feet pressing down as if shattered
by gravity, post peak pride-time free fall
I wish to be and be in its temperamental casket
That ingenium, a supreme state of being
I won’t ever work for but still
I envision I’ll catch it
As if a permanent sickness
rather than self-authored static
As if I blink out a prayer; stick my hand out; am lucky; and still living
Until I’m suddenly clasping it
All I’ve ever desired
And all I had to do was ask for it
Trying to get back to writing something every day. As such, I am writing poems that are inspired by Dictionary.com's "Word of the day".
I feel no need to present something of value, but still I can't find the zen in me not to share it somewhere. If art is not shared with the world, has it even been made?
(Yes, yes it has. In some faraway future, that'll be enough. Alas, we live in the present.)
