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Poems of Paul

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A world in words. We meet the world. You and I — Together. I observed the ice commune with the rock. I watched it contort along the pebbles, plaiting with the orbs. Together, they formed a queer window to a sanctuary:. The frozen innards of the world. The glaze of ice-rock appeared as glass. Like a rolling river surface before it spills into the sea,. Shattering into a million sprays among the blistering boulders —. A sight rarely experienced inland. As I stooped to examine the translucent gelatin,.

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Poems of Paul A Routine Task

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A world in words. I combine my thoughts together. I gather them one by one,. Placing each aside for just a moment. I must pause at intervals. Hesitating to discern, I cannot move. Sometimes, I must reprimand the thoughts. For paralyzing my progress. It can be a debilitating process. When I am done working,. After each thought has been collected in turn,. I sweep them together vigorously. They fit perfectly in their little cubby hole. At the back of my mind.

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Poems of Paul Liking You

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A world in words. Liking you — it is a dream,. Primarily because I cannot ever guess it. It happens when I least expect it. It takes me places I would never tell it. My liking you comes in many shades,. And not all of them are synced to mood:. It is like the clear sky when I am blue,. And the blue sky when I am red,. And the red sky when I am grey,. And the grey sky when I feel alive! I cannot cordon this liking of you,. The boundaries do not exist. It makes me a little crazy that I cannot define it.

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Poems of Paul Blankets

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A world in words. Never have I slumbered so unpreparedly,. Crowded by blankets of soft illusion. Before, I was circumspect in my bedmaking —. I lay the sheets so squarely, so snugly. But now, I just throw them to the mattress,. Because who will see my bed but me? When I think of the purpose for bedmaking,. I think of the advantages that are heralded. By those grim and solicitous proselytizers of adulthood. Ldquo;Be more motivated, be ready for life,” they say. And why I should strive to govern my sheets.

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Poems of Paul Sallow Sentiments

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A world in words. We pine for respite,. From the implacable past. From recollections of injustice,. Personal bodily harm,. Deep, incurable premonitions. This begins the manoeuvre. Danger is our gondolier. Love is our gondola. Fate is our canal. Frankly, we are ill-prepared for the tour. Pleasure from injury,. Promises from prattle,. Bequeath, warily, a song,. To adorn thy spirit.

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Poems of Paul To Write is to Build

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A world in words. To Write is to Build. Groggy eyes are a symptom. Of well-thought plans that saw their end,. And of hard labor and brute exertion. Of the struggle to reach a destination. These groggy eyes,. Burdened with heavy-hanging curtains,. Prefer to shutter and close rather than see. When I was working, lifting my pencil and paper,. I was oblivious to the specks of graphite that were laid. Like asphalt on newly-trenched stretches of earth. They formed smooth highways for us to ride.

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Poems of Paul Untitled (07/20/06)

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A world in words. We are proud to sit with you. And patter with our feet. Staring at the ants below,. Flailing in your mead. Your color collapses starry nights,. On ants not so meek. They carry corpses from the earth,. Of stars, and ants, and thee.

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Poems of Paul Untitled (07/20/06)

http://poemsofpaul.wpwentzell.com/post/110207032659/untitled-072006

A world in words.

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Poems of Paul The “Smokes-Too-Much Kid” at Spiderhouse (Austin, TX) (07/11/04)

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A world in words. The “Smokes-Too-Much Kid” at Spiderhouse (Austin, TX) (07/11/04). The infantile adolescent,. Satiates his self-conception,. Bleakly limps across the room. He mimicks his elders’ pastime. By repeatedly caressing,. With awkward, overgrown fingers,. The filtered end of a tobacco potable. Yet this child, oh so greenstick. Has not duped our perceptions. Of sincerity or decency —. He has managed only putrid consideration.