Revise
quick poem just wrote about how I see myself trying to make sense of all the nuances of humankind. Where they came from, where they’re going. At the end I’m trying to give the sense that rather than actually learning anything or making anything new-it feels more like I’m unlearning and trying to forget all that I’ve been conditioned to accept. Devolving is an appropriate term. A blank slate is just that blank. Imagine trying to rewrite a language from scratch, could you come close to having one near the size of an every day dictionary before your time expires?
Revise
——
Step into my dungeon mind,
where eyes are fluff dotted
and whispers underlined.
Into horrorshows of green and black,
my soul stretches,
yet gives little slack.
Green is the season,
beginnings my friend.
yet black turns the winter,
always to the end.
Watching wilting flowers
with dream stained visions,
another climbs up the towers
the multitudes submissions.
Different is a trait
lost to early adulthood
when differents become psychotics
just misunderstood.
Battled so long against comformity,
that now much conflict is meaningless.
conventional handshakes are a mystery-
as are ‘bless you’ replies to a sneeze,
or ‘thanks’ and ‘would you please’.
forgone, would they notice something amiss?
Isolated and unlearning
de-volution my mind is churning
language reborn in one-zero grunts
minor are the challenges
the revisionist confronts.
