By Way of Paper Trail

Running low on ideas
A man pens a poem
For this gives leeway idea-wise.

Same man, reluctant
To put down one single word
So brimming with images.

Time heals all wounds.
Images dwindle
Before chanced into ideas.

What is kept in check
At poempoint
Is not ideas, is images.

Next of kin of dwindled images
The poem in its plight
Spawns, however, ideas.

Demise of images
And capsized ideas, it
Still helps dig the world.

Same man, with bated breath
Observing to compose
Whatever lines might beguile.

Paper’s above the fray.
But Babylon in her ways
Pays it back in kind.

Neither virgins nor the world
Do exactly
Expect understanding.

October 30, 2009