Stray Poem


a stray poetry hound, I wander aimless
the canon, these shelves, volumes and journals,
scrounging scraps of verse hither, thither and
yon. rending the flesh of conceits, tearing
metaphor and simile asunder,
I suck the marrow of image and sense
from their inspired bones. my howl is mine
alone, tossed up at the pearlescent moon,
a prayerful psalm of longing and worship,
shrill benediction to muse and parnassus—
the lone yawp of a proverbial cow
distracts from the irish countryside . . . like
pavlov’s pups, I drool for their beefy rhyme
enjambed and slipping down its slant of line.

David M Pitchford
2 Oct 2011

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