For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem involving a shape (or multiple shapes). You can make the shape the title of your poem, or you can work the shapes into the actual poem in some way. There are two dimensional shapes, of course, like squares and circles, but don't forget some of the other shapes available out there: horseshoes, coffee cups, houses, etc. After all, some objects become so iconic that they actually are considered shapes unto themselves.
Shape
I talk about shape
the rectilinear, the curvilinear,
the iconic, the abstract and organic.
Lord knows, I think about shape.
In the end shape is simply shorthand
- the boundary of the purposeful agency
of the drifting, wide, intermittent
possible meanings of the thing.
The heart, for example, heart shape,
iconic, (red pen) can be scribbled on a card
and set the world in motion again
My body, for example,
is everything anyone could identify as me
but it's just a shape (oh that maddening shape)
I climb back into
in the morning
so you can see me
and I can say hello
though mostly i hover nearby to my body
quite near (just outside of its shape so I can return quickly
and be defined by its edges if there is a knock at the door)
I stay close to my shape, except when i leave it,
lying there, in the glow of the digital clock,
vulnerable, I leave it without a thought,
as if I'm not married to it
while I flow like water over canyons and wander into heated palaces
and make love to whomever i choose
as if I don't have to come back before morning
and look at the shape of my face in the mirror
shape that appears to be me
and try to find someplace to put the wide, dusty street
i took, alone, for my return.
My loyal shape takes me back
but is worn
just a bit
and quiet.
Every shape has a shape for meaning
because meaning itself, poor homeless and misunderstood,
has no shape.
If I gave you a heart
you might understand.
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