A flat surface

WARD KELLEY

Moving through time, our souls
are a flat surface, a virgin leaf or

benighted white page who does
not slide within the foliations of

time, but instead appears opposed
to such folds; yet all is as it should

be. There are foliations of the mind
also, and it is there where the words

come in to form the poems, the souls
of poems like flat virgin thoughts all

in opposition to these mental folds . . .
and this too is as it should be, for

the souls of all these are not meant
to fit succinctly into the universe,

for if they ever would, their impish
purpose would then cease and be over.

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