i have no other means to see,
only through the intervening vacuities
of the word — out in the field
there seems to be no end seething
to the very beginning;
these words now
appear limbless yet still make
their way deftly, scrunching
against the wall enough to toss the
body out of sleep.
i have nothing to offer
only my despair
and in this, myself, have seen all
too pristinely without a sensible trace
of fear or a mitigated feeling
i am all words and no conversing,
addled by the thoroughness of it,
ample warmth of a makeshift fire
thwarting the involuntary shadow there,
hiding behind the renegade
of thought or a portentous rearing
of imagination's hearth:
i am all words, no other than this alone—
having achieved this noble sense of
swift perpetuity, no other means to
this end than the poetry of impetus.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
i have no other means to see,
only through the intervening vacuities
of the word — out in the field
there seems to be no end seething
to the very beginning;
these words now
appear limbless yet still make
their way deftly, scrunching
against the wall enough to toss the
body out of sleep.
i have nothing to offer
only my despair
and in this, myself, have seen all
too pristinely without a sensible trace
of fear or a mitigated feeling
i am all words and no conversing,
addled by the thoroughness of it,
ample warmth of a makeshift fire
thwarting the involuntary shadow there,
hiding behind the renegade
of thought or a portentous rearing
of imagination's hearth:
i am all words, no other than this alone—
having achieved this noble sense of
swift perpetuity, no other means to
this end than the poetry of impetus.
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