The Poet


“The Poet”

Due West
I daily travel
seeking my Elysium; the perfect word;
the startled thought expressing love
found in long lines stretching to eternity.
I trace
the same worn pathway
as Ulysses; my utterances pitched against
that hazed horizon where no sound; nothing bounces back
pitch black
save the recognition of my voice spiraling through the dusty ether.
I pause in reverence of that soul, alone; God-like.
I clone myself in circles; writing momentary sounds in the Now;
hungry for the wing`ed phrase
to set my poem free…
and split infinity.

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Rantings Of A Third Kind

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