My poetry lies folded in the wrappers <br />marked for value sifted sorted folded filed <br />rejected accepted a line of strenuous dispositions <br />stretching from the keyboard to the kitchen counter top <br />And there the toaster pops up nouns <br />The pot bubbles with a verbal sauce <br />To my left some crusty prepositions browning nicely <br />I have some lightly steaming adjectives <br />mixed in with some adverbs for flavor <br />But a rattle heard a u tips over and pours out his contents <br />All over his neighbor poor l he stands up like a v <br />Next the i shoots his rocket pellet into outer space <br />and trenchant t tips over and stabs nubile n right in the head <br />And this letter goes and another comes <br />on this notion of mine <br />And the poetry comes and goes and flows across the room <br />from the kitchen to the eventual reward <br />placement into the new material file <br />And while the keyboard's still humming <br />and the waste paper basket 's filled with crumpled corn pops <br />Some crazy-wire insects crawl over the top <br />scrambling to regain their original designs <br />before they were so contorted <br />and pressed upon my page<br /><br />Tom Courtney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-my-poetry-2/
