Young Writers Society

Finished Book

This word and that name and that spell and that certain way of light
conjures portals back to those early days, or later ones,
where we met and became entangled like trellis vines.
I have, by now, written enough, indirectly or head on, for a life size paper-mache crucifixion of love.
I search for it obliquely, tying down words, that even layered so, are pale,
while you, with one look,
one expression,
one breath,
one tear, one second,
personify all that I can’t pin down.
I am so far inadequate in comparison, it’s a wonder that you tolerate me.



Why We Follow Them

Yes they are breaking,
but everything is breaking so that’s not why.
It’s because they gaze upward so beautifully, so noble and so pure.
They are cathedral ceilings, they are skies,
they are statues and they are words that last for centuries and rest upon the breath of many men.
They are our hope and our downfall wed.



The State of the Language

All these words we have are so inadequate.
They’re so inadequate for what we need them for.
I sit there and cultivate words like pearls in the clutter of my mind,
but still, no use.
All these words are too vague, inaccurate, fleeting,
too blunt to pierce anything necessary.
I’m trying to catch sun flares and dust motes
and the shadows through the venetian blinds
and I’m trying to catch fine things with winter gloves and mirrors.