Sticky Words

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Stuck With Words


Touch a word, your finger
might stick to it, as if
the word is saying you.
Jack Spicer advised wearing
gloves. Or did he? He advised
a lot. Those blasted words,
they want you working for them,
not the other way around. They'll
find you on a street in Istanbul
where you stopped to rest
and drink some tea. They'll
show up in North Carolina just
when you went out on the porch
to get away from chatter.

You want them working for you.
What if you stopped wanting that?
But how would that? Let it. Photo
of a toe. Toe photo, tofu, o future
once and present perfect queen
of Fubaro. Plant corn flakes.

Unless otherwise specified, this
is it. What's the context? I'd
have to know the contest. Hear
the filibuster in a country
church. If the preacher talks
long enough, God can't bring
a piece of legislation to the floor.
But he can knock down the door,
and that's for starters. "For
starters": see, see how those
two words stuck like something
from grass on your socks, after
you sought something in a meadow?


Copyright 2010

"Intimacy," by Hans Ostrom

"Fresh Poem For Anyone," by Hans Ostrom

John Prine - Fish and Whistle

"Cedars in Space," by Hans Ostrom

"I Thought It Was Tangiers I Wanted," by Langston Hughes

Letter from Samuel Johnson to Mrs. James Boswell, 1777

"Sexual Orientation," by Hans Ostrom

"Mistakes," by Hans Ostrom

"Four A.M.," performed by Joe B. Vaughan, Jr.

"love is more thicker than forget"

"Alicante," by Jacques Prevert

Time Squall

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Time Squall

A cloud of time came over
and rained minutes. I
watched them come down,
generate rivulets, create
puddles. Wonderful to see.
I went out into it
and stood beside an hour-sized
puddle, observing its
ad hoc intricacies. The cloud
moved on, the downpour
of minutes stopped, and
the sun went to work.


Copyright Hans Ostrom 2010