I Am A Kettelhack

I am the fork.

You’re the spaghetti.

I’m San Francisco.

You’re Ferlinghetti.

I usher you into

a shard of story,

half a tale,

not far beyond the Pale

detritus of Imagination’s

failures, my Imagination’s

culs-de-sac.

I am a Kettelhack.

You’ve got my back.

Lately images have come

preoccupied this way –

two by two into the day

and all that I can think to do

is to imagine I am one

and that the other one

is you.

.