Turning Question Marks Into Swords


completely inconsequential,
these words escape in random coughs
but with potential to be assembled
into greater good.


a context understood by its surroundings
and vice versa;
the interplay of verses,
the back and forth of a lyrical chess match


where we were all
pieces scattered by the hands of god
to different corners of the world,
left to unfurl the mystery ourselves.


but well-traveled, we unraveled the quizzical turns.
tempered hands
straightened question marks into swords
with which to stab the sky
and hear the angels scream out poetry.


now it rains words
and puddles form where the ground
is concave enough to retain the blurbs
until they simmer,
with perfect resonance


and make us yearn.



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