And I’ll Be Whispering “Yes, Yes”

And I’ll Be Whispering “Yes, Yes”

I’ll never be a famous poet

I’ll be clapping from the back row
as beauty takes the stage,

full-frontal soul bearing,
scraping the bottom of
my own withered artichoke,

mustering up a tear
for the trembling spotlight

& beaming over back covers
like a proud mother

I’ll be a fellow fledgling
to all the broken birds

We’ll craft pieces out of smaller pieces,
& world build from rock bottom

I’ll be bled dry,
but I’ll still cheer from the blurry edge

(2018)