For the sake of the butterflies that flit;
For the honor the ruminants give the grass by grazing-
Writing poetry is the forehead of the elephant
Too heavy for the little one with constant review.
Only that language is the extension of our lives-
Like the detached tail of a gecko wriggling,
The tail of the squirrel that critics cannot trim;
The itch of a mosquito bite in the space between
the little toe
And the 4th toe,
Impossible to fulfil.
O voice which questions,
Here is my repartee.
About: I have been reading people’s works and experiencing poetry. I’m not sure if it helps. Does confidence in one’s ability to use language deftly ever come? In the meantime, I write…