Early Morning........ Poem by RIC BASTASA

you wait for the time
when what you write, whatever that be,
in what form or style,
or content, or such things as
weird metaphors, and transmuted
oxymoron, become a poem.

when you breathe poetry when you
spit poetry, everything everything
becoming poetry,

and i shall walk away and wonder,
how did this happen? i do not want this
and that to happen.

i prefer something else, a prose
that becomes a rose, a poem that
is transformed into a pro em,
a phloem, a flow of necessary nutrients

to finally construct a flower, smiling
to the sun, early morning.