“where’s the place for poetry?” you asked
ah, well, in between the nooks and crannies of creation
the glue that holds petals to flowers
and lovers to each other
the spit that was spat on the shoe of tyranny
that is poetry
“where’s the place for decency?” you asked
inside the heads of the dead that died for freedom
in the hole beneath the corpse of idealism
beyond the gallows of a false democracy
the flag that flew when someone said hypocrisy
and underneath a soldier’s brainwashed constancy
there you will find decency
“where’s the place for artistry”?
Beyond man’s boundless universe
Underneath your eyelids, of course
In every cup of coffee that rejects normalcy
It is merely the conquest of infinity
Riding the shoulders of a militant reverie
There is artistry.
Where is the place for poetry?
In the handshake of possibility
Where dreams escape fragility
As we gods sit in our gallery…
Painting, weaving, destiny
Deciding that one and one makes three
Creating the world that others will someday see…
There is poetry.
September 20, 2005