crumpled up poems

Folder: 
perseverance

several opening lines,

backspaced and severed,

cut away as strands of cloth

frayed at the edges of my attire:

speak in tongues

without the luxury

of a translation stone;

burned like brittle effigies 

spiraling heavenward,

breaths of smoke

in dissipation,

becoming crumpled up poems,

too imperfect to hold on to;

swiftly discarded inkblots,

never to be read again.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Writer's block has the better of me right now...

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redbrick's picture

Back in the old grandparents'

Back in the old grandparents' house before the thing was finally torn down were several packaging boxes (U-Haul variety) containing several tens of notebooks filled with scribblings much like your "crumpled poems" as with the demolished house, rather swiftly discarded, while I was away at university. They shall never be read again, for sure.


here is poetry that doesn't always conform

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