Poetry
the atlas lost hold
of my brain again
and so
jaw
throat
collar
shoulder
solar
plexus
hip
pelvis
seized as waves
lapping against a burning
lighthouse
we are not aware of
where and when
tragedy will hammer
but also heal
the tap releases blood flow
held fast
from misalignment
pain…
A poem
we are the artists of the here and now
and we evolve the form, the function
of the late greats
lest language is the cause
to liquidize the original states
reduction of meaning
mimicry of thought
but who am I
to write so cryptically?
whose ego eclipses whose?
skipping a…
