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POEM: Dead Poem

August 18, 2010

handwriting is a physical experience

and words on paper

were created by a




once transcribed on this screen

crisp clean


justified! there is “meh”

that whispers, each

the the the

looks the same,

looses dynamicism,

now i’m the slave, the computer

is the master mind

i squeeze my

thoughts and words and flows

on a 16 inch


death to poetry

flat-lined flowetry looks

“ok, fine” but lacks all


breath breathe into words

and leave all that

eye closing stream of consiousness

behind with

the other strange kids

i speak


and the words play a Lazarus

before your eyes

disguised as a poem, my breathe summons


you are reading

a dead poem

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