JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

It’s up to you

the way the world whirls

or firms into an object

mountains and valleys

for your fingertips 

to explore

 

You could lie in this position

forever

counting stars

as they form and melt

like dew

on the window

of your mind

like forgetfulness

 

Or raise your heavy self

lumber across the landscape

bare feet crushing forests

into matchbox splinters

 

Everything possible

is there in your world

all you need

is to learn to paint

color by color

feel the shapes merging

 

Or wait until

your candle

tired of idleness

blows itself out