Sticky Clay
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In December I put together a found poem consisting of last lines culled from previous poems, called The End of the Beginning. Today I'm coming at it from the other end, and this found poem uses only first lines, and not selected from all my poems, just those written in 2022. I hope it makes sense.
Sticky Clay
I busted my ass again this year.
I’ve worked restaurants -
Better to use my time
writing poems.
Every tunnel,
by definition,
has an end.
Seasons change;
All has become quiet
in Moscow.
She asked me,
Do voodoo queens
dream of saints?
There is good reason
There is not much here
for my kind.
I simply could not
bring myself to cry,
On the sticky clay
of my uncertainty,
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As usual I was put up to it by those finders and keepers of choice poetry bits over at DVerse Poets.
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this is great found poetry - I also liked the gap between thee
ReplyDelete"Do voodoo queens
dream of saints?
There is good reason"
It gives pause for thought!
Nice one, Christopher! The lines fit together well, and I especially like the lines:
ReplyDelete‘Every tunnel,
by definition,
has an end’
and the phrase ‘sticky clay of my uncertainty’.
Wonderful working of fate here, to provide you with excellent elements that you skillfully assembled Chris. This felt cohesive and comfortable. Well crafted… 🙂✌🏼
ReplyDeleteThese lines lined up so cohesively!
ReplyDeleteTime used writing poetry... YES
ReplyDeleteThis is wonderfully done!!
ReplyDelete