POEM - This Is

Poetry porn, 
its everywhere these days
in those hosts 
of gene-formed daffodils
wafting provocatively in a force ten gale
head banging to a pogo dance
with a leather jacket
there's a minor scratch of recognition
yet
is one ever ready
to die or to dance in the reverie?
each moment urging surrender  
to allow oneself to be enveloped
by the monstrous beat
of love, in veins bursting out of being corporeal
this passion walks past
like a drift of air
bounced in off the sea
instantly drowning out the desire
for television, a bland song, that boring book,
with the rattled tumbling dryad
of an ocean magician
this is
not a slow running tap
filling up a cold sink
this is
a sonorous gift, like
a cap casually thrown
into the lap of hearing.

Stephen Lumb
written June 2023