A One Kind of Giver

Everything I write, a word bleeds

I wrought for a one kind of giver

Unending as a tumble weed sifting off drift

Never enough even when I re-stitch

I bleed each word as it leaves my mouth

Mothed by troth, the tongue

Commandeering

Giving dry air whips of snips of psssh

I reminisce its salience, its high division sign

No matter how much I give to it

I can't get enough, to give back

When I write I seethe

Iron draught with no green

Only wounding and scratching

I sought this as desire but desire

Made me question my form of propensity

Myself inside a blood shed drought

Blether and blather and who said rot-n-poetry?

My desert hand spasms at aqua vitae

Fraught by a quaff of birth

I cannot reproduce but a blush,

Easing a monochromatic ecstasy

Clburdett, 2024