The only one
who thinks in poetry
is seemingly me.
(surprisingly)
Perhaps it’s you
who thinks
in broken lines,
metaphors and ink.
But to the rest
I must plainly digress
into lyric rust
For on the shelf
These prisoners ||\|||\
(pioneers)
must sit
until they’re unhinged \_/
Or read aloud
to a half-listening crowd
Seeking
Enlightenment?
