David Michael Jackson

I will speak no more of
Willow trees
And white sycamore branches
Against a blue sky
I will speak no more of arms
And hands touching my
hair.
In the morning I make the coffee
In the evening ,
In the water the oil makes rainbows
And the catfish hide in banks
Waiting
Ever waiting.
I will speak no more of
Willow trees
And white sycamore branches
Against a blue sky

I will speak no more of the
Wind
Making the trees sing
In the twilight,

Or maybe I will
Risk the cliche’
Risk the critic
And grab what I can from the
Sunset

Ah me
the sun knows me
I who was not there when.
did he say when?
oh nonsense writer
sing your nonsense
sing your song of what.
what?
what?
oh nonsense writer
sing your song for whom.
whom?
oh nonsense words be there on this page
this meaningless page which isn’t really
there.
Am I really
really
there?
Did he say there?
Here?
Here?
where?
over here
yes over here
that’s it come on
over here
now that you are here
in this little box
this nonsense box
now that you are here,
Where are
you?

write one for me
type fast
don’t look up
take the first line as it comes
do not judge, just
type
hit break at the middle of
the sentence leaving
questions at the end of
each
line,

Then delete the
superfluous
fluttering of your own
ego, leave
a semblance of beauty
or truth behind you
and know when to
end the thing