Poetry falls vertically...

Did you know that
I don't know what
makes a poem a poem?
Did you read that
in between the lines
the words all melt
into a single form?
I can't write in
broken lines with
simple words and
triple words and
thoughts that break
into the next and
next and next. It's
all too simple all too
empty, thirteen pages
filled with four
word fragments
hardly seems a
work of art...

What if I believe in horizontals, what if I want to splice a thought and run it through the city's streets, what if I think that I could wrap the world in stream of consciousness rife with inner life waiting for a linebreak that it will never find? And isn't that a little egotistical, what i mean to say is, someone's bound to find a greater means than structured rhyme, a pseudo-free verse begging to be tamed a universal. We'll have somebody speaking prophecies mind wide open looking for a little bit of silence...


*poetry, it simply falls, and falls and falls and colours the skies a lighter shade of real..*