On the Road to Poetry

An hour lost is three in subconscious evolving.
Therefore, be on the road to poetry.
It’s a green road that seeds the shadows.
It’s woodlots and meadows
Pronounce the first syllables of music.
It’s abandoned farmhouses
That enter the house of your mind,
The crossroads that make you an artist.
Therefore, be on the road to poetry.
Drive the river road, flooding time.
Eventually the fences break down.
A landscape become its own poem.
Having memorized everything you saw,
A line writes itself, and lives on the wind.

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