Squash

Neil Armstrong in memoriam

I never promise the moon

for no reason, Mr Gorsky

This is a false rumor

that poets aim higher

than astronauts

I’m just sitting in my cave

playing squash with words

They return with an echo

leave bruises under my eyes

jump to my throat

demand that they stay with me

for ever and ever

from the beginning

to the end of

every poem

every love

every day

 

August 26, 2012