imbalance

Settling

If poetry is settling,
what is a stirring spoon
in the muddied water?

There is no metaphor
that sits at the bottom of the glass
that may leap up
with a momentum of a frog
and catch you
mid-throat
before you swallow your indigestion once again,
and mold into
yet another insoluble

Till the new war
opens its mouth
and the mercenary irrigates the bomb,
the glass will became fertile again
with the notion of end
as with blood.