Eyes of worry,
those tiny dark universes,
hover over words
that clamor
like horses at the gate
to be set free.
But he restrains them
into orderly blocks.
Oh, so orderly,
with pauses in between,
such artful interludes,
each phrase thought out
before spoken well
as though good diction
could save his soul.
It just might.
Copyright 2010 JO Janoski
No comments:
Post a Comment