By Diane Binder

It so happens you elude me,
as I strain with cerebral searching,
head nodding back and forth
like a bobble-head doll on the dash.

I can sense your withholding:
I know you are there.
Volumes verify,
authors attest,
surely on occasion you rear your head.

It so happens you elude me,
oh thou reason without rhyme.
flirting lyricist,
give me a hint just this one ti-

Cease tempest!
I refuse to surrender
to the folly of Suess!
I plead for a jabbering dactyl…
a logical and grammatical

Here I am at the climax,
character starved of connotation
like a foolish cliché’ scorned.
Alas, there is still hope
that one day,
I will be a poet!

Categories: Issue 4, Poetry | 1 Comment

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One thought on “Hope

  1. Cork

    I think your bobble-head has found its muse.

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