uber poet

uber poetry

erasing itself line by line,

jumping around as if

independent

of thought,  without direction,

youthful, energetic...

its yearning  like the pink

aurora borealis,

at the bottom, near to earth,

a plaything of the sun, 

from charged particles

ionizing the atmosphere

above the tundra lichen.

liken that to the quiet scene

of boys in cutoff pants

and sweet girls in taffeta

watching boys in cutoff pants

throw  stones flattened

by glacial rivers,  here now

after a million years, there

selected, drawn and tossed again

this time by children

who ionize the waters

with multiples of of landings

and takeoffs that leave

trails of rippling circles,  

the disturbance of calm.

who?

the uber poet asks,

who

threw the first stone?