I get abstract poetry

Words as puzzle pieces,

Difficult to believe in

   As the sum or all its parts.

The words bully in, caring little for sense

Pushing only for placement & notice.

Blatant, this awareness of self

And the question will anyone else understand?

Yet even as it blinks on the mind-screen,

I peer around it to continue writing.

Writing as Root & Sustenance

It was instinctive, writing. I always had words lined up even as others chewed their erasers into the metal. Writing has been more in faith with my heart than I ever entrusted Love to be.

Writing holds my body, holds my hands, holds my heart & soul.

Unlike animals, it never passes away, tail waving in the distance. Unlike God & Man, writing always answers the phone. No cosmic hold; no options-by-number.

My life is forever in the distance itself. My tomorrows only arrive as todays. I am told it all will change tomorrow but without a tomorrow, really, the changes must be the ones I make today. That’s why I write them down. Or maybe I write them up. You decide.

Carol

7/15/21