If You Have to Ask, You’re Not Listening.

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January 27, 2016 by jeliwobble

Some poetry cannot be read.

It has to be experienced.

Words do not flow.

Instead, solid brick formations

of misunderstood vocabulary

jumble onto the page as if

a wall just took a beating

from a wrecking ball.

The mortar of comprehension,

and punctuation,

and grammar,

crumbles,

melting,

dribbling into

insignificant,

inappropriate.

full. stops.

Transposing feeling from mind to paper loses much

in the action of the pen skittering

across an empty stage,

a spotlight attempting to pin

the elusive, mariposal thought

to its blank, unerring stare.

Consequently, gibberish remains to taunt you

with its half-formed, half-grown, half-baked

seed of consciousness

left out in the sun

too long.

JD 2016

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