Upon Writing a Poem
There is the having decided to write it
at this moment of it
The having decided to not put off writing it of it
The rolodex moment of it
The stepping off the edge of it
The letting it rise and writhe
then curl and twirl around me of it
The flattening out on papyrus of it
The not skewing it of it
The setting it down as soon as it appears of it
The difference between now and then of it
The knowing what I meant then of it
The escaping fate of it
The deciding this is it of it
The trusting my gut of it
The this is it of it
The riding on the back of a hound of it
The longing for that time then of it
The wanting to bring that back of it
The carefully feeling under a blanket for it of it
The attempt not to disturb it of it
The need to have done it of it
The desire to have done with it of it.
The madness of it
The let it off the leash for a while of it
The was Walt Whitman really gay of it?
The wow as we were so we return of it
That poor old man the wind flung into a bus of it
The police enquiry and subsequent investigation of it
The so by witnesses do you mean people who were there of it?
The woah flying poor little old man out shopping of it
The looks like he just flew of it
The terror and the trauma in an instant of it
The that might just as easily have happened a hundred year ago of it
The end of days of it
But somehow it could only have happened today of it
The spiralling inevitability of it
The resultant fury at the Old Testament God of it
The wanting to drag them from their beds
as they lie plotting airstrikes of it
The self-centred cotton wool faced nausea of it
The joy of finding there is a god after all of it
But when I die she vanishes of it
But if I want one that’s the deal of it
The finally putting down the pen of it.
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