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