“A Mess” – poem

Written on August 25, 2009. I completely forgot this poem existed until today. As the title suggests, it’s just a mess of words waiting to be revised – one of the many strange things I wrote while reading Faulkner.

“A Mess”

A novel where things are stagnant
or moving slowly as not
to be felt, or recognized

ink, floating slippery black mess


drop of water – shimmering pulse on wood
or wherever it falls.

suture or suitor – both seal hurt well

a poem – when a poem falls, words
spill onto the carpet to be absorbed

a child kicking out the beat of tantrum
into the floor – collapsing in
exhaustion hears the words

poetry is thicker than blood – a
screaming id of human experience

steam breathing on metal,
visual representation of melody
a heart that can’t be still
for the grip of life is tight

act of blossoming
terror of powerful emotion(al)[s]
tagged by id

reading – fluttering of pages
the stately way words can look
whether they make sense

or not.

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