Wordle #184


Brenda Warren

Blue poppies neither dissuade

My visions nor furnish them.

How frivolous these inklings

When abridged for the sake

Of speedy conversation

And how brief the spark

When the audience

Cannot derive the epilogue

From its gnarled beginnings.

Strange are the idols of man

And stranger still his renderings.

The number thirteen hangs

Over my head like a cat’s grin

Scathing in its serial regard.

I will never forget the lay of my body

Its apocalyptic roots compressing

My vocal chords that the screams

Within register only as sighs.

I want to be audible

Even in silence,

To be relevant, however,

Uncompromising my muse

To exceed those expectations

Which have condemned

All venture literary or otherwise.

I want to be, without

Feeling myself unwelcome,

An indisputable part

Of the life that I’ve been given.