THE POET KNOWETH NAUGHT

Those who deliver squirming

residue, self-propelled compost

seeking expression, riding along

in the line of ink struggling to be

known, are our curious midwives

who, pulled inward, wipe the mirror

and meet the eyes, meanwhile

harking to the echoes, letting the

pustules break and hopefully setting

the dandelion chutes free to fly.

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 83 now.
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