Member Poem

Are there verses within our grasp,
or are they just impostors from other worlds?
Are there stanzas to conjure rabbits,
from the hat of sleeping  moons,
or latent sunshine?
Will some pearl escape the mollusk,
of the wild to shed a light?
Play-Doh lines pop up to meet a threshold,
never seen by eye and lens.
Are there words that act the sniffer dog,
picking up the scent of every phrase?
Fluorescent idioms, dancing  in,
a half turn swing and pivot,
ronde de jamb en l’air and more to spare.
Fancy letters trim the wick to burn,
their excess blubber and good riddance.
Trenchermen for hokum,
or high bromide don’t show up?
Hoodoo in devils town, tent rock on the  move,
terms that crystallize our sensual magma.
Narratives that ripple over vitric tuff,
and breccia cheekily caressing,
sunken bank or mudslide, frogman in mid-air,
grasshopper on a slimy pool,
itching for some  wand to,
banish doubt and disarray