Six from the prompt. – The Poetry Marathon

(Wallace Stevens says) we say God

and the imagination are one.

I’m as curious about what one is – is one ever? –

as I am about what God may be.

(Besides a woman.)

(I tire of pointing it out.)

While the imagination is fertile like a womb

and brings forth yadda yadda yadda….

So okay. I guess.

Comparisons do break down.

I also wanted to be indivisible but

there was generally a component

to the component,

another side to that door –

four sides, actually – with a cautious stipulation,

minor equivocation in whispers overheard

from the next room, a damned good reason

these three shouldn’t be joined asunder

and I will speak my piece

and I will forever hold it

and it will all be one.

Breakdowns, though inevitable, cannot be predicted.

A poet spends a life staging love songs

to the imagination

which is a church

with many sides, built to get us out

of the trees, out of the house, into the win

and lose, the love and lose, the publish

and failure, more failure,

an imagination that races not like the cliché

but really hurtles to stay ahead of the block

inside the ice cream emperor and fashion

in poetry and the right secret facebook

group and the rot inside. Sorry not sorry.

The truth about the church. The truth about

the number one. The mystery of the holy trinity

and if the imagination is running the show, God!