... a poem by Harlon Rivers
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hours slowly drip
onto the taunting empty page
the water color palette
dries as if it were thoughts penned
onto a tightly stretched canvas
its been said so many times before
similes... form clots at the tip of the quill
words... finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the rumination
flooding the same stuttered notions
another way in another moment
metaphorical sleights of hand...
dry onto the sheet of paper
as traces of past now’s
...miles of written reverie spun
like a spider reprocessing,
carefully savoring,
each fine silk thread of web
spinning the womb of time...
dries as if it were thoughts penned
onto a tightly stretched canvas
similes... form clots at the tip of the quill
words... finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the rumination
flooding the same stuttered notions
another way in another moment
dry onto the sheet of paper
as traces of past now’s
...miles of written reverie spun
like a spider reprocessing,
carefully savoring,
each fine silk thread of web
spinning the womb of time...
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