befuddled and stuck in this mire of wordlessness - or words that do not want to connect coherently in the best order. At this point I know that I am making too much of it and need to stop thinking about this estrangement from the muse.
This started with the composition of an excessively verbose poem - far too heavy handed but it doesn't want to get rewritten - I mean what I said and it sucks, or at least caused this ripple of drought to infect my very being. It's dramatic and drastic without being dynamic or interesting.
but here it is anyway and I am only putting it out there because I need to either own it or shoot it. Possibly both.
not titled yet
susurrous dissonance playing on in our heads through
voices obfuscating true thought.
no action, reaction; no alleviation but pressing pressing pressing and
drinking to augment the medication, an ill-advised admixture.
sudden cessesation and eyes open
heart thump bump thump bump
really going on and on and on
fear sweat wetting hair and outer shirt
body shivers from breezes.
awake
light low.
powder burns and night now.
feet cold and uncovered by a short
green blanket.
- Hoc Scripsi
next week this goes to the range for a few holes in it to see if that offers the proper way in.
may i offer a word: when you can go to your piece without a pencil, look at it and not have to get up for that pencil. Only then is it complete.
ReplyDeletelet the words fall where they want..
I use a typewriter.
ReplyDeletehaha!!! Touche'
ReplyDelete