Saturday, April 18, 2009

Poem a Day, April 18

April 18, 2009



nothing to say, an arid landscape
of thought, an emptiness deeper
than the Mariana Trench

nothing to say

so say nothing

too late, the poetry demands
words as an offering, yet nothing
weighs more than infinite matter

so, why are you still writing?

good question - forcing the words
when night calls for sleep
is not poetry, but ego, the false
self - whose face in the mirror?

so shut up already

exactly



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