Last time I posted a poem, I made an audio recording of it. This time, however, I felt compelled to write it out by hand—my nicest print, for my nicest cursive’s too large—and scan it in. It’s a twenty-line poem with twelve syllables per line and two broken lines where it felt like there ought to be stanza breaks. I’ve posted the full text after the image, just in case you’re having trouble with my handwriting/loading the .jpg.
And what’s an asyndeton, you ask? You can read up on it here. ♥
Asyndeton v2.1
The words line up on the page in clean, carefully
plotted hedgerows, assembly lines of ideas,
suppositions, emotions. Their sentences pose
no mystery, the alchemical combination
of letters, characters align to suggest an
inside joke that’s lost on all who’ve lived beyond the
transformative diseases of the twentieth
century.
The sunlight from my window peels back
a layer—a column of illumination,
light, redemption—to expose the contours of the
paper. The printing press kissed the page, it left low
furrows, caverns of delusion, obfuscation,
projection, near the spot where my practiced hand made
a note for you—only you.
Shadows—the consorts
of the afternoon sun’s narrow exegesis,
the walls’, the curtains’ imprinting upon the page—
leave much to speculation, prognostication,
imagination, never deigning to provide
a breath of justification, explanation,
elucidation. Some things aren’t meant to be known.