PAD Day 23.
Write a morning poem.
Every attempt I made to write/wax/scribe beauty
just sounded quixotic because—
“This morning I’m just. . . ”
A silly millimeter closer to either the
bounty or perhaps the blizzard of your
cursory hug or was it an intentional stab,
dang, they feel the same–
this bedlam of pleasure and pain.
(This is an ABC form: The first four lines are in alphabetical order,
the fifth line isn’t. The poet creates a mood, picture, or feeling with the
first four lines and ends with a bang.)