there is no blank page
there is no blank page
for there is no poem
yet
when a poem comes
like the prodigal son
it comes with it’s own page
it settles it down
and settles down
there is no blank page
at the top of the flagpole
the orb reflects the sun
into the clouds where poems reign
waiting to slide down up-stretched arms
to slip in between closed eyes
and to be heard for the first time
in a blank mind
there are no blank pages
just empty chairs at a feast
waiting for their
oh lordy me
lordy me
what a menu
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