This poem is not concrete. It’s not set in stone nor cement. It’s sedentary. Neither resilient nor reliable, stable nor sturdy; this poem is untrustworthy. Deliberately flammable, fearless, flirty. While it changes shape, misbehaves, it’s worthy. Trim the wick. Watch it glow, but don’t blow it. This flame is my poem.
Artwork: “Candle Flame” Michael Creese
NaPoWriMo#28~Create a concrete poem. I dreaded this assignment as a child. I loved the leak of the words and then trying to mold them into a shape, I couldn’t even. But here, I’ve created my anti-concrete, concrete poem. “They tell me to stop, but I keep on going.” The finish line is a few days away. Then, my lovely muse rests.