“I Was In Search”

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“I Was In Search”

I was in search of some imperfect blossom to spend—
Conspicuous consumption, yes! I know—when of a sudden came
A single bloom meant for you but sent to me, and in that same
Bloom were riots. No soft word, no single sheaf of grass that blends
With other garden desperations, no zephyr’s nightmare from your heart
To mine and parts beyond, but in my mind, a perfect syllogism,
A blind inducement? No, but nothing less than prism’s light imprisoned,
Bound and binding, sleek and swift, a deadly dart
That deftly wounds but does not kill. I would die for this
Were I you, but in the pedestrian tyranny of birth, certainty, a blessing
That no shaft of steel knit of finest prose nor poetry, no guessing
At the mark and meaning, no juxtaposition; no hope, no risk
To overcome so short a space and time as this,
Another dispensation in the folds of all that’s lost in all that is.

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2 responses to ““I Was In Search”

  1. This poem describes your poems… delicate, riotous, while at Once intricately cut, as if by pirouetting scalpels. Enjoyed it.

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