Wednesday, July 4, 2018

The Fifteen-Minute Poem

Probably took two minutes.
Poetry scales are fractal.
The poem seven years making
Only ate up scattered days.

Some days you shatter your bones.
You’re astonished it happened
So fast, before you knew it,
Before you noticed and screamed.

Most days, nothing much happens.
I was determined to change
That, but only succeeded

When I realized change was real,
Whereas I was only a phantom,
And then my poems composed me.

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