I get abstract poetry
Words as puzzle pieces,
Difficult to believe in
As the sum or all its parts.
The words bully in, caring little for sense
Pushing only for placement & notice.
Blatant, this awareness of self
And the question will anyone else understand?
Yet even as it blinks on the mind-screen,
I peer around it to continue writing.
Writing as Root & Sustenance
It was instinctive, writing. I always had words lined up even as others chewed their erasers into the metal. Writing has been more in faith with my heart than I ever entrusted Love to be.
Writing holds my body, holds my hands, holds my heart & soul.
Unlike animals, it never passes away, tail waving in the distance. Unlike God & Man, writing always answers the phone. No cosmic hold; no options-by-number.
My life is forever in the distance itself. My tomorrows only arrive as todays. I am told it all will change tomorrow but without a tomorrow, really, the changes must be the ones I make today. That’s why I write them down. Or maybe I write them up. You decide.
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