“Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.” — W.B. Yeats

Exquisistence

Exquisistence

Those pipe dreams
cleared these rooms
years ago,
spiced blue curls,
art forms really,
sweet potpourried hashy plumes,
luxuriant "S"s, "O"s and "L"s,
like the way his fingers curved
and moved,
soft yet firm,
measured, determined,
and again,
splayed
for maximum extrapolation
commanding every cell arise,
wake, like mad science, live.

Those men are long gone
away to their secured plateaus,
protected, nurtured,
not nurturing,
where they can no more consider
fierce, sweet intenseness,
haunted and haunting
today,
to have,
to hold
no more
than smoky swirls,
delectable incense,
that hashy
Exquisistence.

~Ann R Cantu
01/15/2011