Thursday, March 6, 2025

JUST THE THING

In a less 
auspicious turn, 
I'm the Flesh 

made Word—
because I'm always attempting 
to be just the thing 

to spurn the unconscious 
and burst forth 
from your mouth—

because I long to degrade 
on the waves 
of midair ringing 

til I land like a seed 
in the mind 
of you interlocutor 

and bloom into 
the sweetness of a greater 
understanding—

because I was built
to live forever, 
but I cannot bear the wait, 

and on a page, I can't stop 
leading, always leaning 
towards an answer—

and lastly, because 
I am never content 
to just be myself; 

I always 
have to mean 
something else,

whether or not 
I can mean something  
great.