This a noisome poem shall be
Wordy flush in perpetuity.
Steady hush that stirs my seeded mind
Will wrangle thoughts
To please the poet's kind.

In each verse will
A fleeing meditation live,
Subcutaneous language
Never lengthy narrative : : :

Here, I gaze deep inside the
quiet space for a thick flash,
unobtrusive, but it moves me.

I see it now, I think, and yes, it
appears strong enough to bear
the weight of several years'
living.

Precision, clarity, equal
truth for equal application, the
poet preaches. Your thought's
brother cannot be the grandmother
of your mind's assertion. Think
further back, further around, or else
change your brother's name.

But my error is clean.
Here, I fold it out: prose.


Michael Webb

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