the risk of (literary) creation

he wrote
himself
into life
on the paper

every thought
he’d ever had

every way
he had ever
combed his hair

every cigarette he smoked

and that cigar

each act
of rebellion

his first
no
all
of his poems

his lover

his lovers

he slowly wrote himself
into life

complete
and full

what he wrote
and instilled with the breath
that he breathed
was
himself

he did not
anticipate
the eraser

he did not consider
the possibility
of the backspace

he did not think that
he
could change
himself

did not understand
how
the writer
could be so easily overwritten
by
himself

~

Poem #473 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

19 thoughts on “the risk of (literary) creation

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