Where to Stop

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This is the twist-arm
feeling of poetry: the anxiety
of compacting ideas the size of
rhinos into a space for cockroaches.
It's the search for stable rhymes
and musical syllables, for metaphors
to mask the sick tasting truth.
Here comes the stop-erase, scribble out
solution; the circle and question mark?
method. The sleepless repeat of
"genius", the desperation
for dawn to quote them cliche and say
to move on. And the disappointment
of rejection; the adventure of where to
thieve a breath, where to rest
and where to stop.





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