Amiss (Randyjw; January 6, 2016)


They were good, but now they’re gone

they’ve emphatically moved on

poetic overload turns to song

notebook moths can hum along


Too much still was left unsaid

running footsteps left no tread

All that germinated in its stead

was morse-coded by my head


Start with three, dit-dit-dit

follow same, but go long

Then, by three, repeat the first

the encoded cryptic song


My poetry left my brain

Where it went I know no name

there they left, as quick as came

staccatoed thoughts, in drops, like rain


I hope they’ll float from there to here

electric currents flashed through air

the astral constellations clearly

paint the sky when they appear



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