THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

I write for no reason, a reason to write

Though writing is reason, not reason is right

Is writing to reason so brilliantly bright

If it’s ordered to please them?

A brightness of slight…

Lyrically twisting a meaning of mine

Is meaning resisting a twisting in time

To find a new line in this instance of time

Is twisted and misted for you to call mine.

To struggle for something to say is a silly succession of thoughts and that comes from the brain.

To be smart is not art and that comes from the heart:

This brightness is more like a game of empirical play with the literal frame that’s mundane and so horribly tame when not played in a way –

Satirical, lyrical, verging on fictional

Turning things on to their heads without visual stimulus, mirror us, words are the play

Reflection won’t mention what you had to…