Mining For Poetry

Words are stolid, austere today.
They are concrete blocks
mute monoliths
in a soundless stalag.

I will have to be
subversive and subtle
if I am to slip through their walls.
As insurrectionary as a weed
in asphalt.

I will work underground
undermining and chiselling
the stone roots of gravity.

Symbols must be chipped away.
Openings revealed
by tunnelling beneath
the immovable.

Furtive skills
employed destabilize the literal
weaken stolid foundations
loosen the towering
suppression of the voiceless.

I shall dig into this silence
until the packed soil gives way.
Until the bleak rocks
grind together
to speak of a sky they are blind to.

Working deep
I will be an insurrection of light.
A mole inching through infinity
pulling down the colossal and defined.

Covertly I shall
dissolve the granite image
with a fluid impulse to speak
and flow beyond.