Poetikos... Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is not tiresome
it is something that you do
because you need to

it is a cure to
a certain literary disease

there are no rules now
just pure
emotions running over
a brittleness of the
the mind
set on what should have been
greater
than thoughts built like a great wall
stretching
to something like an
eternity of
half-deaths

a string of bean-like
probings
somber, and sometimes
even sober
yet drunk in some sense
of a context

i do not really know if you
are there
reading

it is not necessary to be read
it is the release
of what is stuck here like a bone
of a fish
inside my throat

something that i hold for the night
and having
myself more than satisfied i let it go
like it is
some kind of garbage an excess
an appendix