No Poets

In reference to and in memory of Brion Gysin, the forgotten Beat ..

 

Pool splash!

 

And then the world did wander,

weaving words and spitting forks,

tongued scars on the pallet -

 

"I'm inking the lifeblood! I am!"

was utterd with a petrified roar,

and slowly the canvas erupted;

 

flowers on tarmac.

(Stain brushed satin and

waterfall drops

 

fall in petals)

And in amongst the broken

beads of laced sweat,

 

you were right:

poets don't own words -

just the beauty of the landscape.

 

Ripples fade.

Reviews

[Legion]

Well, you did a kick a*s job of it. Especially that last stanza. Great work!