My Substance

My Substance, a poem.
"How disintegrating to sculpt a golden vision in the mind and find up on creation (substantiation) it wasn't gold at all, but copper, and when exposed to air, the Zion shine freezes over like a look to Medusa. The instant the Pentecost-hot ingot of myself breathes in, it's oxidized; the death is cast, earthen mortal blue.

There is pain in publishing work for me. So often, whatever grand mental revelation I feel I’ve made doesn’t take form the way I saw it in my mind. It looks lumpy, trite, or tawdry when brought out into the real world. I also bear a worry that the work will be misunderstood as an attempt on my part to appear deep and philosophical. The language I use can be antiquated, my sentences drawn out, and the content unapproachable and riddled with parentheticals and hyphenations. But it’s all true to me. This is how I see the world, and sometimes (often, always), it hurts to communicate. This poem’s probably about that.

One thought on “My Substance”

  1. To say this poem is about you failing to represent your artistic vision to a high standard is a sublime irony as this poem is nigh-on incredible, the language/metre, use of rhyme and juxtaposed imagery are awesome, rolling thunder style, really glad I stumbled across this, I hope you kick your imposter syndrome’s butt because 12/10, I hope more people get to read and appreciate this

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