what makes a word a weed?

makes me suddenly
yank it out
toss it from my poetic garden

I must admit it’s never logic
nothing rational
just pure and perfect whim

it sounds odd
it looks strange
it simply doesn’t fit
it’s a weed
goodbye

and so, to fill the gaping hole
I plant another seed
and watch new life erupt

listen
to how it gabs with neighbors

hope
that this communion of sound and sight and meaning
will sate the artist’s appetite for perfectio

tio stib

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