Poem: Writeless

 

Writeless

 

this bedrock inside my head,

such cracked and turgid ducts,

lava the pulse as my fingers massage fast-

forward storms which rage across 

cranial continents.

my m y  y y my breath strives to 

contain this cerebral albatross

as it vents such voluminous fulminations sulfurous, nauseous, neuro-

dyspeptic, what is hell, 

hell

this thing inside my head, this 

crucible of the anti-civil,

this stubborn, primal, antediluvian lack of

principia?

what is this emotion?  why?

whyfully i ask why?

 

thumbs plug nostrils & knuckles prop ears.

maybe God, like this,

shoulders the world, like this, a 

world that is a head too 

heavy for the neck,

a world intertangled,

irreducible, overdetermined atop  

stilts of web, this balance in a play 

of madcap flesh on a stage tilting 

nowhere.

 

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11/19/25 ... horrifically bad...

5/28/24....

1/16 ... a couple minor changes