Reconstruction

The older the poem
the more uncut words
there are, the more said
the more meaning
thank god for manilla folders
and filing cabinets
for the egomania
of saving drafts

When we go back far enough
through the layers of cosmetics
past the rendering and polishing
and find the excess verbiage
we so cleverly excised that time
we were so clever with the pen-
knife, there in the heap of vowels
and consonants is a word

You must retrieve it, extract it
like a diamond from dung, see
how it pulsates, palpable
the very heartbeat of the poem
is there, the poem that became,
for want of it, a mere shell
a propped up scaffolding of bones
in the shape of something
you thought you knew

You knew nothing, thank god
you knew enough not to throw away
the pages behind the poem
you called finished
to finish well you must always
go back to the start
find out what it was
that stopped the world
and your breath
and had to be written down
what it was that you later removed
to make it all so neat

Neatness is for corpses, remember this
while you are still alive: shun neat
flail, fling, whirl, leap and turn
strive to increase, expand
take up space, fill the world with more
not less of you, use more words
that are pulsing, fewer that are
blank bones

2 thoughts on “Reconstruction

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