"Writers, Bears and Biology"

How dare I be so presumptuous

to suppose that my words have meaning to others?

That these scraps of thought

and ink

and wrinkled paper,

Are anything more

than the poorly digested

pile of berries

Left behind by the bear,

Without even the benefit

of steam to herald their arrival

in the cold morning air

 

I must have faith,

That it is necessary to me

To process these words

to make room for new ones to draw sustenance from,

And discard those

of no further use;

A simple act of biology

and survival,

Much like the bear

and his stomach

 

 


Copyright © Andrew McKnight. All Rights Reserved.

Leave a comment