Some poems take ten years to write
which is like not to sayI’m sitting around
and pouring over a poem
for ten years,
but it could be a ten year old idea
that collides with a brand new idea.
This poem was written
before the Pandemic
about “The beauty and absurdity of existence.”
but the state of the world changing
affected the decision making
and it didn't take full shape
until today.
So, dear reader,
what does it mean to you
to work on something
you believe in
but that is not ready yet?
Sometimes an idea
is a poem spelled out in bones,
just as sometimes a cloud
is just a cloud,
but they are are all
little styrofoam puppets
waiting to be played with
or thrown away.
or thrown away.