blind poetry
Broadcasting my seed to sandy floors
too course to retain the downpour
when i pour it.
Just a blind poet
Braille feels like bumps
on the bumps on your fingertips
It is my tounge;
Sensations lingering
on skin.
Lustrous memories of texture and sound.
Murals of emotion
painted with smell, faint strokes on sticky paper
The artist is proud, sometimes
Seeking an audience.
I dont wish too much to get me sad.
Shifty comfort in Difference,
Content. It is, maybe.
If we pace with me from where i started
you can trace my meaning
Hear me gasp,
hold my breath,
even my breathing
along this.
A longing that you'l faintly feel it,
press hard into the words,
scratch the paper
maybe tear it
If you feel too keenly.
An emotion unshared
Art lost
the world is locked
away from my cosmo of galleries
Fated to rot
like others of this form
Erased by better imprints
and snapped into nothing.
I should'nt have had these seeds
'cause I now wish for even weeds
whose thoughtlesness in eating
is acknowlwdgement of existence..
..My worth of murder
of thoughts
written in dots
In hope the world will someday read.
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