All I had was paper and pen
to alleviate the overflow of the Dam
in my mind, of
words, words, words.
First it was the D
it brought with it the connected AD
swimming and falling over the brim,
splashing across empty blue lines
or margins of notes during class.
Ink stains the pages forever. More
D’s follow behind and soon
I had a collection of D themed poems
Disease, Disgust, Divorce. Discrete
was a Delusion my eyes
would seek. Disaster! Burn it all! I had to.
All worthy of only the deep end
in a Dump. Drunk Delusions Defiled the pages of
words, sentences, lines, stanzas, couplets, rhymes …
leaking through the cracks, I had no
control. Ugly, crooked noses and
sideways eyes, stench of liquor
on their breath. They needed a flame, so
I Dowsed my poetry filled Dam with kerosine,
lit the match, and walked away. Heat
beating on my back. No burst or boom,
just steady flames for years, and years.
It whispered to me each sunrise and set, tugging
on my shirt, poking at my sides, but I always
turned away. The words were like oil, thick,
black, and stuck to my skin with its slick
grime, unable to wash away.
All that was left the white
hot ash that slowly soaked to charcoal.
I could no longer ignore the whispers, or
the tugging. They overwhelmed me once again, so
I lifted my rusted pen and swept away
the Dust. One letter, one word at a time
then it all came flowing back, like a melting
waterfall at the peak of spring, Dripping
one by one at first, then rushing
out all at once, continuous, fluid,