POEM: Can It?

(31 August 1996)

What do these words mean to me now,
That she no longer believes in?
Where do they make sense to me?
Do these words cry to you?
Make you feel anything?
Can this moment within my life allow me to write?
Can Pain make Poetry without alienating you?
                            Can it?
                            Can it?
                            Can it?
One may ask... why write,
why let all the pain go?
Push it out of this pen and make you read it.

Why do these words work?
Can you understand what this means to me?
Where do the words cease,
and the actions make it enough for you?
                                    
When do these words work?        Now?

            Later?                Never?

When does this mean enough?
A face crawls and mingles across my eyes.
When do these words mean enough?

Where do these lines carry me now
here as I am, quietly here.
My eyes and limbs hurt and beg for relief that comes

                        from inner pieces that remain.

Edit and pull back...    
        so I do not let these words cry from
    a misdirected intent.
Do these lines work?

Or why do my hands just glide over a pen?
When are there enough answers
Where are all the questions that remain?

But,

Here, kicking in this womb,
the world I have created,
waiting on the step,
waiting for the nothing book in which I have
    conceived-
                These images crawl around my hands-
breaking and being battered by hitting my skin
Trying, trying to get out, break free, here within a
    world I roam.
Words seem to glide without edit or purpose, but
    only  a feeling
                            or a meaning?

                                                ~ klaus andrews