At the start of a new poem
the world is born again
as if I have never written a word about it
and was experiencing it for the first time
these trees are not trees
this sky is no sky
I still don’t have a name;
I see a spark
and try to name it,
then it’s gone
and all I have left
is a bunch of useless words.
Useless Poetry
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This entry was posted on July 9, 2009 at 5:21 am and is filed under Poetry with tags ars poetica, beyond language, birth, first time, futility of poetry, nameless world, nihilism, nihilistic poetry, poem, useless words. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed
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