by Mark Olynyk
I
walking on the edge
of a slice of life.
cultivating words
from a field of dreams.
a cross section of experience
provides the inspiration
for productions in verse.
letting loose a torrent of connections
spilling on the page.
a single drop is an atom
of knowing.
ideas on the verge of change
must pass by the gatekeeper.
a metaphor is a blind substitution
for the barely glimpsed
truth of imagination.
a convergence of the disparate
locked into the possible
harmony of art.
II
a subterranean call is a hoax
from the trickster
with stalagmite memories
hanging in a cavernous waste.
undercurrents of fugitive thought
flowing through a forest
of forgotten themes.
the fallen trees
of past generations
cry out to satisfy their vengeance
on the prophet of time
Last updated July 03, 2013