ken greenley | spears of light

Spears of Light

Poets, throwing spears of light
Seeking the bull’s-eye heart
Poets, painting portraits with fire
Poets, welding iron bonds with words.

Poets, with their ripped up clothes
and messed-up hair,
Poets with their empty pockets and big bills
Poets without a car and bumming a ride again.

Poets, throwing spears of light
White-hot, incandescent
Burning through armor-plated tradition and belief
Opening eyes and hearts

Poets, shining flashlights down dark paths
Poets, taking the bad roads
On unicycles
with flat tires

Poets, shooting for the stars
and trying to stop a wave with a spoon
Poets, always rolling boxcars and snake-eyes
And trying to fill that inside straight.

Poets, throwing bricks through glass
Breaking brittle windows of thought
Poets wading between the broken shards,
searching for diamond needles
in glass haystacks.

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