A picture is worth a 1000 words
but not just
any 1K
creates a picture
that’s where books come in
. . .
books are
word albums
–like photo albums
and come in lots of
sizes
. . .
journals are
the candid shots
caught out
in red eye & bad lighting,
weird expression & off angles
stripping depiction
to just woke up
real
–foregoing flattery
and dismissing delusion
. . .
text books are
the utilitarian pics
the passport photos
and X rays
the work team at Xmas party no one wants to attend
and fingerprints
only a phone could love
the mundane
to which most masses
are mandated
–and succumb
. . .
fictions
are the big hair snaps
the vacations from your day-to-day
with
too much make up and unlikely
cosmetic surgery
–an extra leg where none is needed
or fish tale missing mermaid,
a second nose
or even a third boob!
(depending on the writer)
. . .
But
Poetry is
the grand.
the 1 large
and true self
of all that’s unguarded inside
suddenly–>
outside!
(WTF!)
& vulnerable!
a child on school’s first day
–the runaway
the crush approached
(and approaching)
the echoing silence
and final good-bye
. . .
the
all that’s soft kept hidden from life’s
hard edges
–lunches done!
(check)
–contacts made!
(check)
–nets worked!
(double-check!)
ensuring
all that’s gross
continues
. . .
yet
Poetry is
the real you
(times 1000)
the you that longs to
be
here
. . .
.now.
a transcribed sepia
and reminder
you were beautiful once. . .
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