your mouth is an arc over the story you say
your mouth suckles a flood of poem milk
your mouth leaves town when lights go out
your mouth sleeps, near me now.
your mouth sings not knowing faces you describe
your mouth imparts rhymes to smooth round stones
your mouth drinks rain like a river does, falling
your mouth awakes, saying me.
your mouth puts tea in honey, drinks drinks
your mouth guards the voice painted inside
your mouth stumbles words like trees
your mouth is water, washing me.
your mouth is like fingerprints beside the well
your mouth dances when you read the threads
your mouth carves round round words, and
your mouth is a silhouette.
neil reid © june 2012
what to say?
falls like rain, the meanings I mean.
do you say draft when the chance of being revised or rewritten is slim?
having written so infrequently of late, this is uncharacteristic of me.
an exercise in simply writing words. almost no editing past becoming ink. but what’s exercise mean? practice for what?
bees make honey, I do this. which is the better crop?
summer gets nearer north. only I know what that means.
I’ll give you this poem instead.