Poetic acupuncture pins & tipping points

The ancient eavesdropper

Sometimes
my brain sticks
every word with its
fly paper cells,
poems
readymade
where they fall,
but some days
there’s
just glue
between
my ears.

My words
have landed
in the middle of
your thoughts —
our texts are
transplants —
hearts
beating for
another’s
cause.

Poems
are
rabbits
pulled
out of
our
thinking
caps,
cards
drawn
from
our
sleeves,
doves
escaping
their
cage,
magic
on the
page.

My words
flew south
with the
geese,
leaving
my heart
aflutter,
wing
beats
echoing
between 
my ears,
feathers
tickling my
tongue.

A creative
spirit never
ceases to
search for
inspiration,
it’s a lifelong
journey with
peaks &
valleys,
the view
elegant
on high
or down
low.

Garbage trucks
grumble their
engines down
our street,
excavating
trash cans like
Oscar the Grouch,
my lids lifted
from sleep.

A growing
season
to prepare
for Winter,
the trees
have stored
sunlight
for longer
nights,
we…

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