#1315 - being a young poet

 

1315

8.viii.23

4.221

being a young poet

self-ekphrastic

 

something one never recovers from

 

 

being a young poet

I am taking my pill of moon, a half pill

big tin of white

waking up every time after

 

own space junk rains down upon

 

need a blacker black

see stars

 

I am conducting all the lightning there is

I am the foliage too

 

take this down

 

you might think understanding would grow

instead the world grows further

the heavens are worse

 

I own the harbour

I own the sun

I own this last patch blue

 

see back

and who’s to raise the veil?

 

upstarting, feted in dreams

it’s lovely, just what I’ll do

 

being a young poet

oars up, inkling replete

soon to be papered over

 

nothing then to watch a mountain climbed

could smoke a whole tree

go to bed with no supper

 

fresh as a flower yet to name

 

wise saws

well adrift

world spun all round me

fond in remembrance

 

I’m not growing out of it

no way

 

I am knowing forth

this that

you bet

 

cast certain areas of colour

 

arrows like these point out of my head

 

I am well ahead of myself

I plan to stay there too