jumble

some things can not be said in words

brilliant though they are, words disappoint

 

we cheapen them

transmuting meaning

into a common stale

 

used up, cast off

 

the purity of emotion unsullied

requires silence

but poets are paid to translate the unexpressable

into the inexplicable

 

do i dig my own grave

every time i give birth

to rhyme?

 

the rime and albatross

around my neck

persist

unanswered

 

______________________________________________

 

 

i have stopped thinking

 

to feel