POETRY
The End
The last pages of a blank book
no longer blank now but
brimming with scratched
out dreams in lead and ink
a project of projected words
a full carafe of craft
most of it cast out
like bread upon the water
or a lantern carried by
the heat of the small flame
inside up through the wind
and into other lives
words lived
words shared
memories pressed into letters
and molded into specific forms
or allowed to ramble free
but always in little battles with reality:
pattern verses chaos
mountain verses plain
formal colliding with informal
in a room between two pierced ears
where no official training has been imposed
they mingle over imposter cocktails
and titter with cautious laughter
until the door opens again
and they are released to make
their mark upon page after page
until the vacant spaces are all flush
and the book has gobbled them up
with a belch, shoving back from the table
rubbing its belly, greedy
but now replete
