WHAT POINT POEM?

In writing words there is no point,
Since no one heeds them anyway,
Yet still we write and still we try,
As if with words we would annoint
Ideas -- like monarchs — march in brains:
Who be supreme — who reign above —
And somehow say when be enough
And when need more and what remains.

But truth demands a keener look —
Admission wanders as we play
With pen and paper so to fix
Our brilliant thoughts as bound in book —
All knowing there’s another way:
That take some trails where talk no tricks.



______________________________________
Flint Hunter / Firestone Feinberg 2011