As the ancient tribe of wandering poets
Pushing and prodding
Crisis and passion drawn
From the central library of time
In ink and blood explaining
As only poems are able
The organic airborne substance
Defining the human condition
In the period when they penned
Digging deeper and deeper
Where meanings converging
Melt all over the lines
Perception teases
Tickling curious minds
In every way hunting seeking
Until you have a hundred answers
And every answer is right
And every answer is wrong
But the unfulfilled poem stands
Like an inoperable iron monolith
Unflappable in it’s position
And we write about anything
Floating in from anyplace
From everywhere
Things we didn’t know we didn’t know
Things we didn’t know we knew
Hopes the poem will fit the puzzle
And teach us how to trust
