Poetry

Words

can be tight, controlled, close
as a shaving razor,

or they can be loose and untrammeled
flowing all over like a monsoon
and sliding through your brain
like water over and into
canyons, just flowing and going wherever
they please, no stopping, no curbing, just
freewheeling letters as numerous as raindrops

but the stopper comes back.
The narrative, a bottle held by a particular giant,
filled then closed just right.

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