Almost Unreal

Sometimes I,
feel like ecstasy has found me
and imprisoned me
to lifelong satisfaction.

Being indifferent is necessary,
unless involved, occupied, minimum wage.
Status worth above average chump
meaning nothing, until chosen.

Gaze fixated upon colour.
Intention grazing summer suffering,
so good.
So real. So sensual.

So fake, honesty sees through
and nails the painful point.
An inflection of concise indecision,
stalagmite strength looms opposed
to stalactite staccato sentences.
and overwhelming, overbearing,
omitted phrases.
Chance the unborn articulate.



The other night I was considering changing my format of poetry writing. Was deciding whether it was beneficial to choose a single style and propel forward. Or maybe each different form I use attributes to an ever-growing sense of style. I feel that I must assume the latter, and that until I hone my own, the studies I partake in only strengthen, deepen the symbolism and coherence of my works.