Distillation Synthesis   

By Birgitte Bröndum

 

Poems should be like glass jars on a shelf

containing specimens of thought. Preserved

peculiarities from a realm within the self.

 

Some surgically removed from minds of poets.

Others caught red handed, gasping, hissing

hiding in dark cracks previously unnoticed.

 

Many stand straight in rows in alphabetic order;

others remain unsorted, disobedient and distorted.

But that's fine, because there is no poetic border.

 

A curious and attentive spectator may exclaim:

I found a splinter of my old school desk, and look

here's that bit of darkness that I couldn't quite explain!

 

Poems should be little everythings of nothing,

like the last myoclonic jerks before sleep

or the sensation caught only while forgetting.