But Then Again It Could Be Prose
and thus free verse runs amok as prose with line breaks that must be just supposed to make a turn – or not – get caught in rhythmic flow or rambling thought. But then again it’s all the same –but not….I guess – unless – you’re somehow caught in webs of veiny, spider guilt for weaving things no spider’s built. Legions have waged prosaic inquisitions haunted by wordless suspicions lurking in the hallowed halls of those who ingest whatever falls upon their ears of sightless peers denied the sound of visions birth slow bowing in a manner curt unsure of when the end is nigh whether to laugh or trembling cry beneath the wandering endless drone – discordant voices lacking tone or tolerance for skeptic wow…I saw an apple with a cow and seven sheep in bearded drag twelve humble men about to brag of feats of chicanery and stealth that stole from the words their only wealth as all the rainbows turned to blue as colors were to hard to do – no pots of gold no poignant brew to blend the colors in new hue just one big muddle of verse free words stirred into a cheese-less curd raised to heights some think absurd but then again it could be prose and then again nobody knows……
John G. lawless
©1/19/2019
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