call it stuttering pen syndrome,
a thing learned
in classrooms.
i find
the transformation suspect:
i formerly wrote prolifically
in stark contrast to the
two or three
poems composed
in this last year.
my
exuberance
has been appraised,
honed,
[mnemonically
harmonically
composed]
something lacking
in the evisceration
what not to do
all the ways you’re
Doing
It
Wrong.
uncertain
and afraid
of tiny
missteps,
my work has transmuted from chaotic
foot
prints
of a mind
on a page
to the ironic sneer
of a one-finger salute
to an education in writing:
a blank page full of lines,
through which thick black marks
obliterate any coherent meaning.
* yes, of course i put this in my B.A. senior thesis. had to. how else are you to thumb your nose at teachers and peers?
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