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ENDLESS SILENCE
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BUT DAD, HE'S A POET
The words don’t flow;
the images struggle
to well
to the surface
It does not
rise
the Rimbaudien grandeur;
the trails of Van Gogh;
Holderlin and DeNerval
on the path of madness
I can not find
the right words
or the right phrases
In the abscess
of my mind
I am filled
with dread
and no words
to rise
to the surface
just silence
endless silence
and the space
is too great
to fill
