MONO ISSUE 1 PDF FLIPBOOK - Flipbook - Page 53
THE POEM THAT WRITES ITSELF
by Dee Artea
This is a poem that writes itself,
the words come along and flow
without any thought on my part,
as you see they just keep coming
on and on, on the screen of the word processor
as if they were foreseen in some preconceived place,
say in some alternate universe, and for some reason
made contact with my brain on this planet and hence
here I am, just typing this stuff that was preordained
somewhere else in the galaxy
or beyond, say another galaxy, or maybe
who knows?
So I just keep typing these words
as if I were a robot or
who knowsmaybe I am, but then how would I know?
But I’m sure myriad science fiction writers
have explored this theme already
and better, much better, than I could ever,
so I don’t know why this poem is going in that
direction but, ya know, it looks like it ain’t going there,
eh?
So where’s it going, ‘cause I’m curious to know
even tho’ I have no control over any of this, since
as I said at the start
this is a poem that’s writing itself
and of course, all this is independent of any artistic
merit or any degree of artiness or creative imagination,
but I’m sure you’re indubitably aware of that already
so I don’t know why the poem even mentions it
or perhaps the poem is more self-conscious than I
originally believed, yeah that may be true,
and for this reason, it just occurred to me that
I wonder how a poem that writes itself
ends?
Or even if it ever ends,
‘cause ya know, it could just go on and on
and on and on...and on and on,
but I would like it to end sometime,
indeed, sometime soon
like, real soon, like now, yeah now, end
here, please.
Whew.
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