On the Night in Question


Submerged words

   Bubble at me



        Clay sentences

           Blow apart

                In midair.


          Frantic phrases

             Beat their wings

                    Drum my ears

                       As they circle

                        Above my memory


                           Creeping similes

                              Sidewalk metaphors

                                 Carry grains of thought

                                     Upon their backs

                             Building hills

                                      I am expected to live in.


                                            Poems form cocoons,

                                                 Slowly webbing their slender fragile images

                                                       Around the restless insects

                                                                Of my imagination.