Every Sunday some writer friends and I get together and each build a poem around a chosen word or theme, literal or figurative, stated or suggested. It’s good for the arty muscles. And to dig out those things that tend to collect deep down. This week’s word was: spasmodic.

~.~

catch

if you say / say now / we have come from a place where words / no, more guttural than this / visceral / edicts / hidden in the uncomfortable flutter of an eye / a shift on the old wood chair / say it / push it on me / your guts and whole mountain / of judgment / kick it over to me / your wasted revenge / like a spinning rock / a spasmodic toy / a toy / that keeps flapping, buzzing / no matter how you try to wind it / back

{ti}