you beat
the poem into submission.
over and over
you tear it apart
and rebuild,
finally it
is unrecognizable.
you have
forgotten why
you even wrote it.
there is no flow.
no connecting dots
of thought.
no middle or
end, just a stew
of random
musings, lines
that have
become muddled and
lost.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
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