Seasons are changing

So we’re not changing

Certainly limited in mortality

Crazy trade-off.

 

I’m not going to write you

a traditional poem

a structured prose

you don’t know what to call it

and that’s the point.

 

This is poetic terrorism

Juxtaposition

Playing school and playing house

Getting at prose and circling truth

 

This is that which is not clubbed out

from the speaker

This is that which fights.

Desperately trying to finish before the page is

broken before the cliff

 

ending cusp outside It doesn’t

Life’s little difficulties

creating new words from broken keys

opening different locks.

 

Muddled, structured, cutting

We’re all together in an empty cage

melded bars

Welcome outside your box

 

We are what we were

Step outside the branches and networks

What was I saying?

 

It’s just time without the apostrophe

Burning without breaking

Looks like jaw of mouth this

 

is poetic terrorism.

Part One.