Poetry Thursday _ August 9

Repeating the Sense of Anonymity


Carousing poetics trap a word drunk surfing bum
With muddled message similes in the margins
Leaving cone vision minds peripherally dumb
Not being there online becomes the place to be

There are those who cannot go where they say
Fellow homonym-niacs may reveal their privates
Make Thursday an unresponsive tomorrow today
Exposed like language unheard by the left brain

Mired in wiki trivia, a most unknown obscurant
Belies common knowledge with jaja entrails
Temptation lurks between the words eye can’t
See what I won’t be in its hidden cognate forms

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At first I didn't know what this poem looked like but then it came to me:




I call it blossoming when the poem informs you, its sensory apparatus, of how it wants to be when it comes out.
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