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Problem with Poems

posted May 20, 2009, 9:56 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Feb 17, 2015, 8:08 PM ]

The problem
with poems

is that they are no more
than objects
suspended
in solution.

Like pickles in a jar
they may have
flavour and aroma,
texture, colour,
even movement
bobbling around.

But they don't seem
to decompose,
rot, stink,
reek. They
don't change

with time.
They don't
have life;
they're objects,
and since I can't
converse with

these ever trapsing corpses,
I will leave them,
though they'll never
leave me.

The problem with poems
is like a short-lived
relationship
with a foreigner,
cause you think

they can't understand
anything but your physical,
and you can't describe
what you're thinking
because you really
don't know.

You hope she has ideas,
ideals, religion, wants,
fear, love, hate,
all human qualities
but it seems to you

she only repeats
what you have said before
and her conversations are
all too familiar. 

Like a pickle out
of the same jar,
once you've tasted one
you roughly know
what the next one
will taste like.

At least you think you do.
That's the problem
with poems.

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