- Non-Erotic Poetry
- segregation
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it is my inclination,
perhaps duty
as a poet,
to sow a good scrap of paper.
there's more than a handful
of unbearable seeds
inside my head.
i could not unhear his words.
they did not bungee from utterance
to ear.
instead they dropped from his mouth
like a hanged man,
and i was air,
space,
there to accept whatever came into me.
for me,
it is dictionary
and history —
defined in one
and not separated from the other.
he spoke of contentment:
"there were black,
white rows
down by tracks,
thin lips
drinking from the same
thick, dark openings.
they were content
to come together
when days were lulled by separation."
and now,
for me,
it is a poem.
-
copyright d. dixon
1/1/06
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