Fold Up the Blueprint

Syllables
laid down with clinical precision
like a blueprint
followed strictly:
emotionless
but effective.

 

I, the Architect,
arrange letters
to better balance
stanza structure
lest a poorly placed vowel
ruptures,
and brings down the scheme.

 

Poked momentarily
by a rogue thought,
I probe what it means
and what should result
if I stray
from the code.

 

What if I flip it around?
Abandon the stanzas robotic like corporate drones
and bask in the openness of a long, unending string of thought and…

 

               Explode the plan! 

 

Rearrange the math into chaos and bask in the calamity,
the hilarity of it all.

 

Maybe it won’t hold up,
but even in collapse, there’s clarity in the truth
that being holed up
in the symmetry demanded by poetry
is more of a curse than a lesson.

 

Fold up the blueprint.
This is a blessing.

 

 

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allets's picture

Fine Words On Poesie

"robotic like corporate drones" are definitely to be abandoned. Great poem on the jump-off point for poeting -:D


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