Prolixity

Here is today's Tupelo Press 30/30 poem of the day. Today's NY Times word of the day is Prolixity, an offense I'm likely guilty of every once in a while. This poem got a bit away from me, but I kind of love it when that happens. I try not to exert too much control over the language. It lives, too.

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Prolixity

I dare not bend that way,
the logical slant

so clear to you
and all the other autocrats.

I'm too desperate for words
and sharp green vegetables

to take you away.
we've always been destined

for a roll of the dice.
it feels to me like chance;

it feels to you like odds and calculation.
tongue on the cube.

(I want to taste it.)
under the star. inside.

would you have come up
if you were ever held down?

would you even know
how to unlace yourself

and close your eyes?
someone somewhere is running.

she has a song in her mind.
she might have been

me before I found you.
you found me.

you can't even tell the story
because it never happened.

i ask you why you hold it,
the trinket

that erases me in the story
i used to tell

but now.
you are across the field.

you are rolling the dice.
I'm already on another page.