Writing Poems

 We bring words together and set them up on blind

dates.  Watch them build a history together, get married

and fight together.  Make offspring syllables cradled

warm in cribs of punctuation.

Phonemes squeezed into existence by two parenthesis.

Words that steal a car

(for a good time) but later put it all in the past and

teach paragraphs the truth about lies.

Words that know secrets about each other and

can't afford to get too mad at one another;

and sometimes  they whisper lies in metaphors to whole stanzas

that listen and drink symbolism like chocolate milk.

Then at the end we tie it all together contained

within itself with nothing left to say and no way

to say it because all the words are overworked,

salty and tired, each one pulling rope to hold

the net together, with trapped visions

struggling to escape.