21 May 2016

Poem-A-Day #82 : There Is

There Is

The rapid transit of us into us
there is a word for it :

The trees are :

They point their tiny fists of spring
they have opened their fingers have gone yellow
then turn toward chlorophyll :

If it goes quick then let that go
the word is is :

Pose the mannequin like it is a painter
staring into a mirror
painting a self-portrait :

Trumpets blare and they are only car horns :

The public transport of us engages the turn lane
there is a word that is is and is not :

We are searching for prose like Gershwin
that conveys a man carrying packages on a busy Thursday
on a Manhattan street :

Dropping seeds like ribbons :

Windsocks popping brass :

Is not the word also rapid in its sphere :

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