You jettisoned your lines' geometry
(that is a better description than poetry
for them). Was it a decision made with rash
rage, or were you just taking out the trash?
Really your absence will not matter
more than a sparrow's fart, or fly crap, or bug splatter.
Starward-Led
There’s quite a sharp edge to
There’s quite a sharp edge to this piece that feels less like a meditation on poetry and more like a confrontation with its absence. By calling the lines “geometry” rather than verse, the speaker seems to be wrestling with the difference between form and feeling, of whether art can survive if it’s only structure without spirit. The imagery of discarding, of trash and triviality, lands with deliberate cruelty, but it also raises a deeper question: what makes a work worth keeping, and what makes it vanish without consequence? It can also be read it as a reminder that not everything we create will endure, but even the act of naming that impermanence has its own strange power.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
As always, your response is
As always, your response is very astute, very accurate, or---as we used to say on the c.b.---"10-10 and 10-8 shape." I always feel very honored when you visit one of my poems. Thank you for doing so.
Starward-Led [in Chrismation, Januarius]