the man who tried to write prose.
the man who tried to write prose,
shorts breaths, intermittent heartbeats
words ripen to fruits, falling
thudding the soft ground.
‘coherent, coherent!’ an inner voice called.
it’s a struggle i’m trying to articulate.
the poet’s poem conundrum;
Synechdoche, New York
when does expression become articulation? when does
capachony of this mind will not inspire, it is no work of art, and doubted to ne true expression
and we harden
collapse into a craig
find another hole.
let my weigh sunk me, i am a drunken boat.
for life does not resign the resigned; he is tasked with the burden of this awareness and to live through time.
hyper bipolar sandals shades flippers weighs publish save