Are poets weak words
Are poems marsh lands
Are verse withering weather
I know there is a tremor
I know there is a turbulence
I know there is a fragmentation
When I web my words into verse
When I will my wishes into words
When I pin my thoughts upon instincts
Poets may be weak
Poets may be vulnerable
Poets may be weary
Poets may be filaments
Poets may be foils
Poets may be figments
Poets may be fragmented
Poems are not
Poems are prisms
Poems are prisons
Poems are pristine
Poems are pragmatic
Poems are prismatic
Poems are primordial
Poems are primitive
They unfold and untie
They untie and unite
Every thoughts into a debris
Every debris into an ash
Every ash into a hash
Every hash into a mesh
Every mesh into a marsh
It is a convolution
It is a repulsion
It is an explusion
Of personal pages
Of parasitic pines
Into a pagan prime
Let it be a null and void
Let it be an irrational irradient
