You work closely with words
Shaping into odd-ball poems
By inside scriveners rescuing
Shadows from the real things.

Semantics is a  mere flotsam
And its closest cousin jetsam.
It is the legendary chain link
That lands Sam in the island.

Poems are in straggler words,
As tiny fingers tugging  shirt,
From inside a vast emptiness
Of a  slept out mind’s pillow.

Straggler  words come at you
As in a  night’s ship-breaking
In an ancient ship break yard.
You end up with  pearl or two .

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