Thinking in Poetry

I wish to remark an alarming incidence, the cause of which I'm not
complete aware. Ten years ago I was occasion to a dreadful shock; an
accident which left me paralyzed. I went through nightmares far too
tedious to relate, though there are some times when I can feel them
still. In any event the point of which I wish to share, is this:
sometimes (not always) but ne'ertheless quite oft, I cannot shake the
rhythm from my thought - It is as if I'm doing the thing I ought.
Though there are times when I quite curse it (as I should); on other
occasions it pleases me quite well. A gift from heaven or (perhaps)
from ... somewhere quite not so altogether congenial - a habit
repremedial of a crime iridriddemial in the next hypothesiamial of
the fundamental nexus in the turbulent morphorthemial; in the higher
gyre of what should be is done. The reason not quite clear to me, the
probable eludes me, though the possible evokes it and the
pointlessness provokes it; and the drive is always there, though from
whence I know not where; and the way it is is layed out bare for me.
To see.
Hypothesis: think not in verse for it will ruin you, and the
jangling crowd won't mourn you; and the swinging judge won't spare
you; and the the ultimate will wait with rasping rubbing hands for
you, to come.
Indeed.


POINT OF INTEREST:
An elephant falling from 20 meters hits the ground with an almost
exact equivalence of emphasis as a thousand pints of mild-mellowed
yellow mead thrown into the thousand wizened faces of a thousand aged
gurus with a thousand profound depths of orientation; and the thousand
startled expressions, and the thousand dripping whiskers, and the
thousand brisk expostulations, and the thousand soft and o so very
necessary elucidations and the thousand humble explanations all add
up to one.
- less a ripple of eyelash and a gentle shaving of ivory.


O so so so sorry to waste your precious time - just having fun.
etc


Grantland