Monday, April 7, 2014

We Ourselves and I

This poet tries to retreat
to center

a silent desert
of the brain
(or de la Soul)

tumbleweeds of neurons
purely and wholly
formed within

and the external
cannot enter.

An ironic pastime maybe
for a poet of the news

for bias molds
the stories

and the self
is forever

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.