Form Matters Poem by Douglas Scotney
Form Matters
but this poet is surprised that,
after 3 full days
breathing in the air
of a factory not proud of its name;
after
headache,
sore eyes,
two sleepless nights,
anger,
feeling polluted to the core of his being;
after opening the car door on the third night,
to the thickest of it
sweeping across FOODLAND carpark;
this poet is surprised that
form still matters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 4:05:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Is poet really helpless? I think often yes, but why? I could not find anything. Is there really nothing? No word is able to express my thought fully.