Hundreds of poetry websites,
thousands of poets,
millions of poems.
I send up mine
and hope it will not be lost
in the cyber-abyss,
but I know better.
My smoke sculpture soul
and precious imagery
are superfluous and temporal,
as inconsequential
as the confetti
trampled and left for dead,
in Times Square
on New Year’s Day
at 6:07 a.m.
But, in the end, we do the writing four ourselves, don't we?
ReplyDeletexo
It can feel that way--but there is only one you, and I like the way you write. So, I'm enjoying the confetti while it's raining down. :-)
ReplyDeletePearls before swine, I say, Mosky poo. You should get a zillion views.
ReplyDeletela la, da 'blossom
Thanks, Loredana! I'm following you on Google +.
ReplyDelete