Advice For Poets

Hold on,
don't release
your pigeon flock epiphany
to chatter in the void,
to scatter in the sky,
to coo their when
and how
and why.

Hold on,
let it simmer for a while,
answer itself
in echoes mirrored.

Match the shards,
unspoken through vacancies,
with what was left
on the workshop floor,
where you assemble
in pressure panic
power pleasure
pinnacle,
in a climax,
a maximum
climb to an altitude
of invincible attitude.

When in vitro you
left behind dust
that was meant to travel
by your side.

Hold on,
and breathe anew.
Take this inhale
to call the flock
from the sky,
so you can carry
the impact of words
spoken in time.
And no notion
left behind.

Hold on,
beat my heart,
just beat.

Open your eyes.

Then,
write.