Words Per Minute

writing when
young was
like popping
ollies off
jump ramps,
tail to ply,
rolling foot
to nose,
bodies
ripping like
kites in March

words as wind
steady as
swiss bearings spin

thinking of
going pro

...

thinking the
words would
fill the wounds

 ...


writing
at middle-age,
fingers crack
when making
fists

all these
words now
fumbling
on noondays,
drifting
out from
underneath

how they age
us hanging in
mid air

let's say,
then,
we ride instead,
carving away
what we think
we know

words as wind