The Wild Pigs of Fortune

These words, as delicate as unicorns

Seeking virgins across a flowered meadow


Wild pigs of fortune

Rooting morels of richest flavor

Growing in ragged rings

Trailing under trees.

I have dined on hope & horror

That sweet & sour of life –

I choose my plate & am served,

The pickiest of eaters

No longer starved but selective.

There is a future of poetry quiescent in me

Until it surfaces

An inexplicable sea of languaged possibility

An electricity of words

A rumpled lightning honed in thunder:

A power of music & movement

A violin plucked in silence

As solid as any ephemeral

Ringing the drums of inner ears.

I sing as it threads from me

Pure, honied notes

Caught in a seine of glisten      

Unfolding in echoes

One word spawning a generation of new thoughts.

The Magnum Opus of my earth-days

Breaking forth in syllables,

A waterfall of words

Manipulative argot yanking me

This way & that

Finally bouncing off the sky

As light breaks through.

I quest the possibilities of expression

For you, panning a seine net for gold nuggets

We can spend on the future

Cooking up possibilities where

We retire from the table, patting

Full bellies,

An unexpected belch of repletion

Bringing a smile since

There is simply no room for dessert.

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