words

like amorphous chunks of metal

they rest on a shelf in my brain

and beg to be molded

I long to hold them in the

fire of my skull

till they are soft and malleable

I yearn to bring them to the

forges of my soul

and beat them

and pound them

and hammer them

into lively, intricate shapes

all day long

I sense their weight

in the back of my mind

golden and silver

they beckon,

brass and copper they sigh

forlorn and impatient

I reach out to grasp them

but they acquire lives of their own

squirming out of my hands

and hopping, toadlike, back to their residences

taunting me

there they remain

languishing upon my cerebral shelf

collecting a thin layer of brain cells

and there they will remain

until the time comes

when I catch them

melt them

mix them

mold them

into a gleaming

new

poem