Everything is jumbled together
on the chopping block
or the painters pallet–
to me they’re the same,
dissecting everything I see,
every thought that tumbled
down the waterfall,
every word that’s snatched up
by the pounding of that
constant natural beat.
Some days it’s thwack
as the knife falls, decapitating
another monstrous thought;
other days it’s the cool
swoosh of wind tickling patience
absentmindedly making me
wonder about the jellybeans
under the car seat.
Where others see decrepit decaying dreams,
I see a possibility still rising. Hasn’t anyone ever told you
you’ve gotta fall before you can rise up?
I Have a Poet’s Mind
Kasey Roper 