like a book
cover to cover
voraciously seeking
my
deeper meaning
...inferencing my tone
and theme
... developing my
character
... puzzling out the precepts of my plot
or
like a newspaper
hungrily gleaning
whatever truth you can find
amid the posturing
and etiquette
and politeness
of my rigid columns
and perfected typeface
and marginalized existence
or
like the back of the cereal box
--trying to ascertain my
nutritional value...
asking yourself if my
sweetness
is all natural
or, rather,
(as so often the case in this world)
artificially
constructed with
such attention
to detail
and
complexity
in an attempt to
recreate
simplicity
--questioning
whether I
really contain
the ingredients
you want
and whether or not
what
you want
is
what
you
need.
or
like a poem
--focusing on finding
the rhythm
(of my heart,
of my days,
of my mind)
intermittent iambs?
troubled trochees?
doubtful dactyls?
sporadic spondees?
airy anapests?
--lingering over words
and wondering
how they
made
their way
into my
composition
--keeping your dictionary
at hand
for those words
in my stanzas
with which you
are not
familiar
(though they be
few
and far between)
or
like a prayer
trembling on your
lips
half hope
half fear
all
benediction
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