A Poem not yet Written
A voice echos in my head a heavenly choral refrain chanting words from a poem not yet written. Marcel is a soft spring scent an escaped ethnic flavor of San Jose and I am an essential worker in these dire days. Echoing despair singing bitterness emojis might suffice in the retell but that’s not what poetry is for. So, when the cat gets your tongue don’t let it eat your lunch. Fleeting friendship of ideas rear their ugly heads in anonymity in yet another circle I am free from that which holds me. The door has sprung and exit is allowed out of the choir’s chapel.