Prose Poetry II
Now that I've declared this particular style as fitting into the literary category of prose poetry, I don't care how reviling my judgement is. High born academics would probably argue until an artery bursts that my writing is base and unworthy of any classification. I don't care. It's not really just regular old prose, and it's not poetry. So I'm calling it prose poetry. So there! Na na na na na na (categorize that statement - poetry?).
Existence is Really Something
a prose poem by PhLo
April 20, 2008
What will, force, love, mind, heart, intent, motive, idea, experiment, curiosity, chance, misdealing, luck, destiny, plan, action, consequence brought me into being? For which of these or for whom do I continue and wrestle on? To what end or purpose? What is my lot, my assignment? If nothing can separate, what exists that escapes the nothing to become something? Why are my eyes blue? I can't see in the dark, nor are my eyes blue there. Even so, there are things that don't change in spite of my changing perspective or tantrums, whining and disbelief. My desire is to leave it all behind as I walk away, never looking back, to never be seen or recognized by the familiar, but kindred and known to the strange and the stranger. An unattainable ideal, wretched and impossibly distant. Nowhere, here and forgotten, unnoticed and shadow ill.