|
creation
by Corey Lockabynever really so moving
certainly not prodigious
really, i don't have that habit
it's embellishing on memories too perfect
how do you add to what's already complete?
sometimes i hear a single note and think it's perfect
and when i stack them and make melody
they are all cooks in the cramped kitchen
instead i incant the same prayer
to the god of artistic placidity
as i'm predestined to be here doing this thing.
-
a great excuse for valentine's day or a birthday
so i could just play l'hymne a l'amour and pretend to feel it more than edith piaf ever did
but there's no passion in plagiarism,
and similarly in me.
the most creative thing i ever do
is creating the lies i tell myself. 03/06/2012 Posted on 03/06/2012
Copyright © 2025 Corey Lockaby
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rob Littler on 03/06/12 at 04:06 PM ...yet the despair yieldeth (if that is even a word). I see cooks with mustaches, little fat ones all alike...and I know the placidity, of which the image is rendered so nicely into a calm surface to push out the door, like we all do, telling the lie that there may be something new to discover. We are a plagued sort, eh? |
|
