Volume II, Issue 2 -- May, 2001
Four Poems
by
Karl Sentnel
rows of words and spaces
- (punctuated, too) -
eyed in odd zigzagging motion
left to right JUMP
left to right JUMP
left to right JUMP
amalgamating into meaning
dexterously manipulated by mind and its eye
into coalescing:
wholes and h o l e s
parts pieces and fragments
some sensed
others left : felt
others
right
new understandings, or old or none
found and lost
gained
implied impressed demanded
made
gone
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I added up the words today.
There were
more
or less
the same
as yesterday.
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I bared the book,
removing its jacket
cutting it free of its covers and binding
undoing the stitches.
I separated the sheets
and papered my walls with the pages.
I cut out the words
and tore each to alpha and betical pieces.
And still I can't bear it.
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literary consumption is a wasting disease
literally consuming me
within and without
my books are piled high
around me
on me
in me
an unbearable weight
of facts and fictions
characters
metaphors
words
I can not leave them be
it is an addiction
rotting me
mind
body
and soul
I am feverish
burning
but held in my hands
the paper won't kindle or alight
only my imagination
still not numbed or dulled
(try as I might
with all that is left of my might
to blunt it)
sets the words aflame
as I digest them
and they burn brightly
brightly
still
racked with coughs
I seek to violently expel it all
but the words have clawed themselves fast
my empty hacks of air are dispiriting
but nothing more
death rattles
but nothing more
the words will easily
laughingly
survive me
I read
and I read
and I read
in compulsive convulsions
there is no quiet rustle
of pages intermittently turned
but a mad rush and crush and ripping
as I delve and dive and burrow through my volumes
never ending
never reaching any end
or purpose
why read
why bother reading
but it is a love
a lust
insatiable
killing me
killing me
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