Anthology Poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

On edge of precipice, if have to,
I go down without flicker or tremor,
It is a burp that comes up
Natural – and I am ready to die.

The poem is born, recognized
First for the idea turning into line,
A phrase: like foetus it grows
By itself, and I am witness, watching.

I can kill it if don’t tend it
And take it out in time -
I have lost many in fallopian tube
But that is survival of the fittest.

When I see the new forms
Very few are alive.
Some wiggle only some limbs,
And many are dead wood.

What I suggest is anthology,
Not of full pieces, but of words,
Phrases and ideas: if put together
In good order, that will be it.