I am the size of a child’s imagination.
Sparks swirl around me like fireflies:
Bulbous and bright.
I am the rumble-grumble of an idling car.
My girth contains the unknown.
My tongue is the color of water.
I am more than the sum; I am the quotient.
I am an imaginary integer.
I am the completion of pi.
I cannot be contained nor calculated.
There is no life inside me
That doesn’t continue to evolve.
I write to prevent my mind
From becoming oversaturated
With images of words.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen