A Poem For No One



On demand for no one

inflatable words cower in the alleys of the mind

They wait to be summoned - but no longer required

Their Maker is on safari


Every once in a blue death

a poem is commissioned

Tho the earthly kings are perished

a Subterranean Lot still drink till the dawn

Dreams unfinished, paths unwed

Blue demons really, breathless and spiteful and driven

Each year a stanza in the book of life


Fear The Prophet that comes forward unslain

before the work is finished

Do not trust his dying breath

For each gasp is a broken chain of words

a nonsensical bit of trivia enciphered to expire

on the deathbed of revelation

a trap designed to ensnare those seeking import

All to be forgotten

All to be eulogized before anonymous headstones

in the backyard of a tornado-stricken Sunday


Curses be spoken to blue herons

A field of feathers and broken necks

Walk the scene

Inspect its perimeter when the sun has fallen

(our private blue hour)

Survivors limp and flutter before The Collector

as he seeks his words afresh


Thru the night offtune songs in tangled woods

A place where even zombies pay heed to no trespassing signs

Thumbs tango in front of campfire

Words come out

Vomit

The drink is potent

The rhymes are serious

The audience insane but versed

in the ways of talk

Be good to these veteran listeners

They pay your way through the eternal night


For we have already passed through

to that new era

Clothes ragged on jaggedy bones

Wading forward thru waist high beach foam

Merry songs come to mind

and we all sing them, you and I

until the low tide leaves us dry and high

as spit in the beaks of gulls


Did I tell you that I wrote a poem for no one?

Committed to no paper or screen

My poetry shacks up behind the mask of the puppeteer

like an infestation of demons

expecting no relief











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© 2019-2020 By Craig Boehman

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