The Speaking Mind

When the mind speaks Poetry immensely personal I hide behind storytelling not talking about my feelings but the sensibility of others. What happens have nothing to do with me the onlooker the observer, like an architect surveying a building and finding the house wrongly designed. I don't mind if the building has doors and windows and are watertight I gladly move in, love is another country as passion is an ember of an ancient fire. You say I'm a liar who tells the truth using the passage of time as my mentor. "once upon a time there was cobbler…" there is not a cobbler but someone else timeless as history written by those who weren't there. My writing mundane I like a forest if they are not so big I can't find my way out Sometimes it happens and breathes of death comes into my mind upsetting the delicate balance between life and no life. I'm not an intellectual reading a book as a pensum to an exam, there will be no trail of titles when I have gone. I like flowers, but dislike flowery poems I find them artificial, as Gertrude Stein said, " A rose is a rose." But of course, a rose signifies much more. While not waiting Godot, I will write some more lies as long as I can.