Should
something unexpected happen today,
it
would more than likely happen in this poem.
There,
I’ve said it, and now I’m committed in
writing
here to perform. Poetry for me is a
thought
at first, perhaps just a single word,
and
then popcorn kernels start popping, onions,
are
peeled as layer upon layer is revealed, rose
buds
yesterday bloom into fragrant blossoms
today.
Something I sense is about to happen
today,
a simple word to begin and a simple
word
to end and in the middle, some magical,
abracadabra,
rabbit pulled from the hat.
Who
can say? See, there is nothing up my sleeves.
Chris
Hanch 11-14-17
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