My poem yesterday
I could see, but it had no words.
It was a mass of tangled threads
looped edges sticking out
on the sides, bright magenta
against midnight blue
that only showed up a little
as warp might
In between the weft
and it vibrated janglingly
as if under strobe light.
So I didn’t write it.
I went to bed, though that added
to my sense of defeat
Its words were: you have no ideas
no ideas in words
for a poem.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 7, 2011
July 7, 2011