this is not a poem
I meant to write more this week,
but I couldn’t bring myself to
pick up the pen and
channel dripping ink
across blank pages.
Instead, I became weightless,
cocooned inside a hammock deep
in Wisconson woods, and let
God read me Their poetry through
a bullfrogs mouth.
2 thoughts on "this is not a poem"
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I like the development in this and I have heard the bullfrog read many times.
Beautiful story, beautifully told, of a poem kinetically lived. Thank you for this.