SF (June 17 1942 / Troy New York)

The Poetry Has Gone Out Of Me

The Poetry has gone out of me
I am as blank as prose-

There is no force of feeling in me
Flat as a lox my words on the page-

I am the middle of the Midwest
Going on and on on the surface only-

I have no inside-
No wind shakes me-

Words are words and only words,
Detached from all emotion-

How flat stale not even weary and unprofitable can a blank confessional poem be?

The feeling of being without feeling
No feeling at all.

A lox inside and a lox on the page.

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Comments (1)

I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS POEM! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! You are a genius!