it seems
every word
every combination
of every word
has been written
and
there are no new words
who knew words?
it seems

all the colours
have been seen
every smell
is in and out again
while each crack
in liberty bell hearts
has been followed
described
annotated
cataloged
numbered
and hidden away
no more poems
beauty and love
just autopsies
describing the dead
it seems

what more
can be given
it’s all been
done…redone
our songs
croak endlessly on
from dry throats
past cracked lips
to soothe parched skin
even pain
is not what it was
nothing is real
anymore
we play at it
while our muses
starved to death
for our
aMUSEment
it seems

so why
why keep writing
why add

o
n
e

l
e
t
t
e
r

a
f
t
e
r

a
n
o
t
h
e
r

because
we bleed them
and
where they land
life
for a moment
is felt
anew

it seems