then come grey areas

then come grey areas
such as the tendency
while in a lull to grab
a paragraph or two
from the work the gods

of customized randomness
chose for the One Project
At A Time Plan, and then
open up the poetry cabinet
and grab a tool or two

and lay the paragraph
on the table and see what else
it can become; or how many
shapes it can take and this is perilous
to the One Project At A Time

Plan because once the tools
are put in motion
and the paragraph responds
with a squirm of delight
or really it isn’t the squirm

that delights but the squirm betrays
delight at the way I use
that tool if not two tools
and I remember
how much fun I had

with all those other
paragraphs I put on the table
and had my way with and sure
not all of them turned out
too respectable

but who wants their poeticized
paragraphs to turn out too
respectable anyway
– thing is it’s hard to stop
playing with those paragraphs,

seeing how they can be turned around
here and there, position
them in different
poses, grab the image-machine,
or put them in the image chamber,

send a few blasts of special
airstream through the vents; a part hopes
they don’t come out so they can function
too well – keep them in their cubes,
for further tests – flops

that crash and burn or explode
might really be more enjoyable
than those that fly – or really
the really dirty ones are the ones
that look pretty one day

and hopelessly soiled the next
– or gaudy or grotesque
or nimble and soft
as a feather floating
from a vacationing sparrow

trying to seduce the lark
showing leg on the pine’s limb.
And I know even these paragraphs
tremble because they feel
the familiar ripples

and know a glance will show
pupils dilating
because they are, pupils
are dilating at this moment,
but once one paragraph

is put on the table and a tool
or two is pulled from the special
cupboard of poetics,
the One Project At A Time Plan
faces a short-fused future

for it shall surely tip
and splinter and a certain
woman who can speak Greek
may resort to more
drastic therapies.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
This entry was posted in no idea, thoughts, travails, Uncategorized, words and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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