not breaking any new ground here
to
tell you the truth . . .
the ground has been broken by
so many poets
stamped into centuries of books
the village wordsmith hammering
away
with rhythm and rhyme
virtuous poets uplifting ideologies
virtual poets digitizing emotions
over millennia minutes
milliseconds
phrases turned
re-turned reduced
rhymes repeated
words recycled
print cut pasted
lifted shifted
rocked dropped
trickle charged for new meanings
reframed for no meaning
it’s a wonder the words don’t
just crumble
under such manipulation
shattered fonts spewing cases
serifs
microdots
overexposed words peeling away
blowing
off like ash
a cataclysmic
storm on the horizon
a
whirlwind of words
tornado
of thoughts
poesy spinning
into a black
hole
until
no bit
or
byte
of
linguistic memory remains
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