National Poetry Month, Day 5
Submitted by Robert David Williams
my hands were first loves and we never stopped dreaming of blurred joys a plastic world hurling itself in begging begging to be tensile to the latest disciple supple curls realized in throes along with the unyielding betting betting dear in hopes that we would never learn of anything harder while tools and glues tarried knowing the day for solution sauntered apiece with the horror ideal that well is not all and walls are but pretexts the limits of the stage and we are but playing little little do we get to apprehend until too too and ages later i’ve got mother dirt for you now some crocus blossom to thrust through your fertile folds of surface your tension better sundered and rude beauty as i was a plant once crawling blind from the surf to seek the attentive two have been everything and through the star stuff i’ve caught sight of other coined sides interim my will water filling as gravity lent and refracted by the wont this vessel demands and who am i to pull at the tiller i say as you say and neither captain and though works pray to be done we today are idols painted in each our image own we we retire to our corners pretending to have disagreed when a stone has but presented itself before the plow
“blurred joys”
-Robert David Williams
Poem of the Month 
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