an artform bound to pages by) words and words and words 

“they themselves are the art are they not” he asks; no they be worldly 

chains to a thing unworldly as words of our world”

our world, our words and their artforms otherworldly, 

 

colliding in a flash of .ephemeral. 

souleating fantasy; really it is such

a shame the shameful humility of our spirituality

TIED DOWN TO EARTH shouting and screaming.

 

and sedatives. and sleep.

tied down to earth. to a word. to a page.

cummings channeling )outside( forces

forcing me to emote _motionlessly_

 

love and lust and life

its. brevity. and beauty boiling up emotions with “words”

rising a stream and swirling and whirling and falling into

my lap. catching more tiresome than cold

 

cummings, at a desk, never 

writing but pouring emotions into earthly ink any

 inkling of humanity lost in ethereal thought

and thoughtlessness on the so,called page