Some poets are two-liners some are three

They repeat in and out of stride with the page

they call in at the least human hour for errands from the mind coped with ease and pulled out of a hat dangling with whistles and their phrasing ringing a bell It’s the sexual orientation between pen and paper do you carry it left or rightward penetrating upper layers angled onto the smooth skin of the empty canvas period and then nothing more off to the publisher who sanctions the matrimony with a public statement as words as pubic hair as sprinkled as snow as sugar sweet enticement of high brow pornography let the cultured look in for you perform a two by two or a threesome lined up on a sheet of promise and a hint of a punctum as the final resting place for remembrance until the next riddle comes along

 

                                                   —animasuri’23