On a Poem
I matchmake my meaning.
Words coalesce and
test their phrases,
taste pronunciation,
bite their tongue on slanted rhymes—
Blood dyes my meaning.
Note their mingling, my words—
curious, ambiguous.
Clasping over em-dashes,
forging a single expression.
Dissusable semantics.
A construction unique to their form.
Their verse question until written
declarative,
intangible until printed—
and even.
Scribbles threaten longevity,
page tears corrupt sense
of being,
fragile art.
Thrive in your drafts,
jotted existence.
Find meaning in your deletion
if you don’t make it past
this rough couplet
this rushed conclusion.