More Refrigerator Poetry

See incredible sweat blowing from my winter

chimney to shine and sleep and illuminate

incohate zeal in the delirious frantic ocean.

Watch me make a picture with language,

ephemeral in the hold of angels.

My need is wild, brazen, cunning,

and yet the urge for blood moans through.


I just put this together on my refrigerator. And now I have the voice of the little boy from The Sound of Music in my head saying, “But it doesn’t mean anything!”

One comment on “More Refrigerator Poetry

  1. PJS says:

    “A poem should not mean but be.” — Archibald MacLeish, “Ars Poetica”

    Liked by 1 person

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