the dissolution of limestone

[saw]

I write as i breathe
in and out of nothing but air
and the words come to me
in exhalations of ghostly transparency

are these words mine
can i claim them as my own
like laying down a stake
in a goldmine of my own creation

my pick-ax and shovel
dull and bent from mining
so long in the same unforgiving cavern
where nuggets grow scarce

as true love.
and a poet gets claustrophobic
and the walls are damp
with underground perspiration

dynamite is risky....
the mattock handle worn down
from a lifetime of stumbling in the dark with this makeshift crutch
hours before the light comes through a new crevice

where the dissolution of limestone
oozes into your soul, and words
form when the rainwater seeps into the cerebellum
and poetry drips like splendid tonics of love.

[the mingo]

... speaking of tonics, the best for love is bourbon -

[saw]

having a little as I type ming....