This Is Poetry
leaves of jack fruit
like operatic singers
their lips singing the
song of the wind
sun, moon, and stars
steady not on your canvass
rivers flowing and when
you touch them they
are real.They wet you.
not the cheese inside
the toilet bowl
not the sound of flushes
not the odor that kills
the sensibility of
art and beauty
not spoons on poos
not forks on fecal matters
the mockery of poetry
holy mackerel, you love it still
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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