Tuesday, September 20, 2016

why not write a poem






life is such, 
poorly traced, 
glimpsed opaquely 
'neath paper starch

rice untouched,
so much of it arch

dearly imitated,
a children's tracing
selves the subject
of many tracings, 

abbreviated line
wrongful loss,
some lifeful gain
sensual loss

dated with
costs, then the


a type of sensuality exists, too
sensed, felt
knew

we few return, creating rifts
whose expectations? traces

hidden lives;
the lift of this
as if, the gift

brought to, 
sought that,
brought again
towards this:

nothing missed
nothing this
nothing is






.




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