the de-struct-ed poem, whose cement
vies for wholedom,
its un-liver-ed masonry depleted as
bones ran out of
bone to break song with song with
song as much as
the eye stains the gullible pen as much
as the pool of
ink stutters did it matter then as it
doesn’t now?
Gathering just-a-bit-o moss 
Clever use of enjambment
Thanks 🙂
I like the ending. Can’t help thinking I’d have made it longer. Maybe not to the best effect.
Did it matter then as little as it doesn’t matter now.
I think because I want the ending to last longer. Silly of me.
🙂 That too could have worked. There is an arbitrariness to which I submit so much so that only after reading what I have written do I start making sense of the poem. Exact opposite of what I would do with prose where my fastidiousness (spillover most likely due to years of programming) compels endless revision even for the mundanest of messages. The poet dismisses all of that and lets it rip.
Reblogged this on From 1 Blogger 2 Another.
Thanks 🙂
Welcome!
words have strength. perfect poetry in every inch. each line. Greetings from Poland
Greetings… and thankyou for your kind words.