Jeff Burt Verse-Virtual 2017 June

June 2017

I live in the coastal hills near the Pacific Ocean and wake some mornings thinking how amazing the wind can bring pollution particles from China, and wonder how far mine travel, what words should I speak for the day.

Alpha-bet

My writer’s block, or blocks,
as is the case, lies
in two of my toddler’s alphabet
cubes, one letter
to a side, all in
lower cursive case,
sans serif, milled,
used so frequently
once-squared edge
and corner have worn
to a shabby round.

When inspiration stays
in bed and genius never
calls, anxiety forms
and everything-anything
diverts, I take the cubes
and stroke like rosary beads
or Aladdin’s lamps,
but know they will not yield
a mediational interest.

I toss them on the floor
for a combination to click,
not for boxcars or snakes,
but a lucky consecutive pair,
D-L, B-I, A-J, toss again,
waiting for two letters to start
the waterfall of words.