Compulsion

Wake up most days
and add a poem to the list
in hopes of stirring
something…

Wake up most days
and add a poem to the stock
in hopes of simmering
something…

Wake up most days
and add a poem to the life
in hopes of stopping
something…

Maybe one day
I’ll know what needs stopping.
Maybe some day
it will just stop…

and I will say,
finished. There, I’m
done with
all that…

Somewhere there will be
one poem left unfinished and they
will claim: his fault, entirely.
Everyone will blame me…

but friend, it won’t be my choice
to leave it unsung. It will sit there
like a bird on my fading face,
staring at the next person up,

waiting to sing…waiting
for you to sing. Waiting
for anyone to say a word
of it to anyone…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T