Poems are pillows for the unsaid.
The emblems of aught.
The surgery
Separating winter and spring.
Poems are handlebars for the abstract.
The tassels windy of hunches.
The wild arteries of life.
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naïve haircuts 
Bob, this poem is so good, every line really hits the heights.
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Sums it up about right.
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This one tricked me or the title did- I thought it was gonna be a bunch of poems it’s about actual poems. That’s a great idea and helps out someone like me who is new to reading poetry.
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