Poet's Sleep, 1989 by Chang Houg Ahn
Image provided by Tess Kincaid, for a magpie tale.
THAT WHICH YOU FEEL
Drowsy, he submerges between gargled thoughts and deliverance. Teetering on the edge of his own musings; he plunges, only to rise in deliberation of it all.
Eaten to pieces by his trite, boisterous dialogue and coaxing stories from his own counterfeit scenery, he tires of all the trash he swallowed whole, now deep within his words.
Having scraped this loathsome, inelegance before, he bites the crooked nail, where flesh and contrived doctrines always sell infinite copies.
We are but ceramic-faced drifters nonetheless, alive across our empty pages where mind will supply whatever is missing.
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