Giving Up

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GIVING UP


I’m losing my desire to be

clever. As much as I believe 

words serve to show us what 

we need to say, lighting the way, 

today, at least, I think I know, so 

to hell with “show don’t tell.”

 

I think instead I’ll strip

naked, cup my hands 

to my mouth and shout 

the bare essence of 

exactly what I’m going for 

and nothing more: 


Honeysuckle! Cucumber plant! 

Cicada song! Sleepy toddler! Home!

Home! Truth! Dirt! Home!


If they lead me away, slapped

with a charge of public 

disturbance, at least I’ll know 

it worked: 

    words led me 

to something firm and real, 

unveiled as these

four concrete walls

I'll scribble them on.


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