A Poem by Gregory
            O'Neill


            


            The Blueprint

            
always existed, that it did was most always
            above

            
speculation or doubt. In years unseen,

            
and as of yet unwritten, poets now

            
in diapers will ignore it, same as

            
we have. Specters tripping along notional
            paths,

            
furthering the cause of the mercurial on
            such moonless

            
nights. It's here this group of pals and
            lads

            
would gather, reminiscing in a pose prosaic.
            Much like

            
the unending tundra, but grander were that
            place

            
to assume more hospitable tendencies.

            
Later, as the words of many flew far

            
upon the worldly wind, a certain likening,
            one

            
to another, proved all the hubbub relevant:

            
If any were in concert, it brought a smile,

            
that it should never be two poets. If it
            were,

            
much gritty haze may have remained untested.

            
 

            
 

            
Gregory O'Neill lives in Washington
            State. His poetry has most recently appeared in: Relief Quarterly,
            Lily Monthly Literary Review, Triplopia Literary Journal, The
            Dande Review, The Adroitly Placed Word Audio Poetry Project (johnvick.org),
            The Furnace Review, and many others.