Friday demands a poem. (Not to mention sacrifices to the gods, but we'll get around to those later.)
On the Run
Where did you go?
So many beautiful poems, once.
Glimmering, spilled over paper
Like a glass of red wine
On a shag carpet.
Soaked up by the paper,
Leaving a burgandy stain.
Where did they go?
So many, it seems, rejoiced around me.
They float away,
To fine tune their structures
With others, more dedicated
To nurturing them.
Tolerating frantic gestures
Of gestation.
Surely you didn't think
Big words would solve it all?
They swim away,
Hide between the onionskin pages
Of confused literary anthologies,
Where they will be safe
For the winter.