Very interesting poem. Lots to thin about.
I write for no reason, a reason to write
Though writing is reason, not reason is right
Is writing to reason so brilliantly bright
If it’s ordered to please them?
A brightness of slight…
Lyrically twisting a meaning of mine
Is meaning resisting a twisting in time
To find a new line in this instance of time
Is twisted and misted for you to call mine.
To struggle for something to say is a silly succession of thoughts and that comes from the brain.
To be smart is not art and that comes from the heart:
This brightness is more like a game of empirical play with the literal frame that’s mundane and so horribly tame when not played in a way –
Satirical, lyrical, verging on fictional
Turning things on to their heads without visual stimulus, mirror us, words are the play
Reflection won’t mention what you had to…
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