Assignment, a poem about poetry

 What if, instead of blood and guts

our bodies were filled with
the warm wash of light of a summer evening;
the slow warm glow beaming through our skin
bones made of wind, organs quivering under
the gentle sway of our blood vessels, swishing back
and forth
and back
and forth
the way your heart beats through your chest when you’re falling in love
(not a pitter-patter but a rumble, a roar, a relapse of reality);
but rather than falling in love with someone
we’ve gone and sank our teeth into the pages of poetry.

When the incandescent glow inspired by words lays bare the truth,
and the secrets we hide behind fall way,
how can we pretend our own mortality, the dousing of the light
isn’t the most pressing matter at hand.

Crushed, ground, atomized beneath the weight of all the poems we’ve yet to read.

Adulation, plateau, cherry red cherry tree cherry pie, blue sea blue sky blue dogs blues music blue moods, diastema, diatribe, progress reports and progressive rapports, rapturous raptors, balanced upon the precipice not of disaster but hope, from inside the car wash I see light playing games and colours dancing like anemone still attached never entirely free not like you and not like me, in a world where dreaming is freedom and writing poetry is an act of revolution.

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