To All The Poets Floating In My Mind

Is this how we get immortal?

Are we intelligent viruses,

or, viruses of intelligence

shooting our poetry spawn

into consciousness?

I don’t know.

What you are for me

is the primordial soup

of wisdom, that, somehow,

when you get to be human,

one can access.

Some other river of consciousness…

not Lethe.  It’s not a Club…because

the only way you can belong to it is to

not be there. You belong to it, it does

not belong to you is another clue.

So, yes, every time you nail my mind

to reality, I feel all of you.