For Myself
Shy words creep through the open slit of thought
but who will listen
want to peep through every living thing.
if not the idea of ones lingering wish
My hope to anonymously make art for myself.
no one needs to listen
an artistic silence fulfilling my shelf
of mangled wonderings tugging my desire
The creak of curiosity my writing book reveals
when it asks what today
the dance of my pen when we seal our deal
a team we are, nothing without each other
This poem is about:
Me
My community