POETRY: National Poetry Month

The snicker paces, stabs its saber
of long-toothed loss of faith
at all the plastic daffodils
in an attempt to free itself,
escape and even so
there is a dumbness to it,
that poetry relives itself
hiding in a fat white tulip bulb
emerging just when man
or woman
needs it most
a shield
a farce
a final sizzle of the torch
a month to celebrate–imagine,
celebrate–
words written to uplift
rewind mankind into a tight yarn ball
just so he doesn’t know
he’s only rolling.