I don’t want to mask my poetry

I want you to understand me

Curse your perfect rhythms, rhymes, haikus

Your lyricism, your literary

When I try to adopt it, I turn mute.

Something channels through me

(I’ve never really found the root)

A demanding stream of consciousness

That cannot stop to breathe, let alone

Wait, conceptualise, draft, redraft

I can’t!

...

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direct your gaze skyward.

I see your eyes slip through

lens and the light shoot down,

orbit in your twitching

left to right,

left to right

panning light in soft night,

oxymoron of telescope

gathers perception -your feet-

fall here and your stare there

pinned to the pit of ground,

grate your phrase from fireplace.

and divide.

put syllables in pen,

cross out...

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