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Click herecold metal in calloused hands,
chip after chip
after chip
slowly
the lines take form
with hard-wrought detail,
as letters go flying
into your arms
like tiny missiles:
alliterations, imperfect rhymes,
trickling blood,
sore grey matter
And always
you have to go
with the flow of the text,
balancing your will
with that of the block...
lest the whole thing crack
and fall into a mess
of useless hack-work
cold metal in hand
the chips go flying
in a battle of creation,
vision after vision
after revision
slowly, hopefully,
gloriously, maybe,
a poem takes form
down through several generations, TK U MLJ LV NV
you brought to us with this and your summation at the end makes this well worth reading. i really like that hopeful, joyous tone at the end!
.....from me too. Anyone who's tried to write good poetry knows the feeling of doubt as it takes shape, "vision after vision after revision". Nice.
Tess