for Sonia Farmer
words we sit upon shelves, letter by letter,
in patterns like bowling pins
how we spend time, time others kill
how many hours spent in a lifetime
active like this, in such activity
others inactive or destructive
when does one assembling words
know he is, she is poet
self-convinced, the world convinced
is it the Nobel Prize, some other honor
or some time long after we die
that it's confirmed that time spent
assembling letters into words,
in patters as if upon a shelf
amounted to something
was meaningful
not unlike an afternoon spent
tossing stones across a lake or pond,
across the sea to see if you can make skip,
bounce, what is not at all a rubber ball
poets firing letters off, rounds of twenty-six
instead of bullets
not easy to find something to fill time with
to kill time with
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
5:04 a.m. 12/07/07
2 Comments:
haha fabulous!!!!! See what good conversation can do? Love it.
you're right, Sonia. It was born out of our passionate communication. We must have touched something - somewhere in each other. Thanks for being so deeply available.
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