Remembrance, or the Lives of Poems

Poems like little cakes wrapped up in cellophane. See clear to the center, crème-filled, or into a heart of nuts and marshmallows and caramel chunks.  Poems covered in tin-foil like chocolate Easter eggs.  Opaque, gooey, viscous almost, all one consistency that may just melt between your teeth— it’s a matter of taste. Poems poured into shot-glasses. Sharp green, thick like jello, barely transparent, guilty pleasure. Poems piled up in a fruit-basket, ripening on a window sill somewhere.  So wholesome, so round. Then poems with feelings, with spirits.  Poems with souls immortal yet still fearful of death or of embarrassment. And poems without homes, floating icons on a computer screen, poems lost to society, poems imprisoned, poems in limbo.