Monday, July 26, 2010

purgatories

No poems today. Just lines
issued from a dull mind
uninspired by the raindrops
drumming on the window A/C unit.
It is strange to have magic

and then not have magic

but souls exist whether creative or not,
though perhaps creativity
is the merit
that makes us want some to survive
more than others

when we live in a place
where form exists but
lacks something essential;
a place where we hope for
the ghost ars in the shell poetica,
that hidden soul of words
to emerge and rescue us
from a terrible cosmic glitch
of unimagination.

But no imagination today, nor dreams,
just the words and sounds
that used to be their ferry.

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