Monday, August 22, 2016

Walking

I never know what it means to work on a poem, and usually it's just a jumble of words that come to me, and I feel better when I write them down. I suppose what you do is shave them, but in the meantime, this works as a repository.

Kicked off zig zag something like
that curlicue spiral while everyone walks
straight.
You leave the pattern like on grass.
You can't walk.
Set off in the wrong direction
again
You want to.
The thing is.
Blame.
Not much to do about it now
These are your feet and you walk
the way you walk.
Sideways, half-moon, circles, curled.

2 comments:

Elizabeth said...

Welcome back, and I like the poem!

Criticlasm said...

Thank you!