POEM - Working the Room

The charts fluctuate

A prophetic reflection

Of my future feelings

And I think I am writing

For the sake of the art

To express something

A deep and yearning thought

But I am writing for the line

Trying to make it move

Take the upward climb

This is what happens

When a writer works

With spreadsheets and numbers

I have gotten familiar

With the data dump

The intricate influences

A nudge in one area

Sends a ripple into the mix

And I am transfixed

Pouring over the numbers

I see a trend

Then toy with the theory

If I include this name

Place the action in this city

Allude to a certain event

Will the readers come

To the landscape I have built?

Then I write the perfect poem

The one that follows the formula

Mentions the right names

Set against the correct event

With equal parts nostalgia

And genealogical cool

The next day I check the numbers

And it flops

Flat on its face

Like a hippo with hummingbird wings

Tossed off the north rim

Of the Grand Canyon

As the harvest moon rises slowly

To follow its slow sultry arc

Lazily crossing down a deepening night sky