In the Mold I Make It

(Some remarks I made on poetry for my latest reading)

Mumbled Jumbo

Poetry is words in motion,

Without being in motion.

A parlor trick of space and sound.

It is inside joke,

You are never fully in on.

Cryptic,

Coded,

Guarded.

It is the mystery,

That makes it beautiful.

It is a camera lens that blurs,

Subject until it matches,

Feeling of the subject.

Till you can only make out,

Outlines,

Assumptions.

It is a picture of emotion,

To painful to say plainly.

A symbol by syllable,

Explanation of life,

That protects you from meaning.

A picture to painful to tell.

A portrait of a lie,

That runs off three sides of the page,

Displayed in a closet,

You only secretly want opened.

An enjambment of an idea,

That doesn’t fit ,

Into life's pretty hole.

Imagery,

Imagination,

Rationalization.

It is a sound bite,

Before there was sound bites.

Love is a many splendid lie.

Words rip apart,

Line by Line.