Joy

Without misery, this hand hardly twitches;
I know no reason; yet when I put to work;
it lumbers; with concomitant hesitance:

no the raucous thoughts more; like -born
still- appendages; rogue these fingers
gone, have; am that i but uneased
by paralysis this; held a back
in trance zombie-like; swaying
spot a frozen upon; tempest
not; but exhumed; with ordered
an file single; ideas these -come
be- have coherent are; not that
susurration shuffling more; that
sentences sense little make, are
these; where the alphabet
away slips, a like fish in (a)
flash-, by moment my
slippery hands that,
away: that have i,

lost the instinctive plop that used to
trail every single goddamm word.

Oh have joy, what you done to me?

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 11:05 pm