My Worst Act Is Talking to People Who Are Not Poets

MY WORST ACT IS TALKING
TO PEOPLE
WHO ARE NOT POETS

White gauze curtains the glass door,
Whitens
Outlines of red flowered bushes,
And
The dropped feather of last night’s silent owl.

The outside view, liquid, no rigidity even in the stems
Of geraniums.
Frees the consciousness to cast out
Closures and conclusion,
See
The geraniums’ green stems as oriental dancers
In green silk flashing green lightning
From
Green silk shook sleeves,

Frees the consciousness to find an inner companion
And teller
Of fortunes.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Outsider Ink