Hour 22- Poem

Hour 22

Where intelligence goes to die

Words don’t make sense

What are words?

A poem? You want a poem?

You don’t want anything coherent I’m sure

I am here, I am typing

I am drifting in and out of consciousness

I cannot spell, I cannot think

I cannot conceive of why I agree to this

Year after year

I am older


I have chemo brain

But I keep typing

One word after another

A sentence is our friend

Beat it brilliance

We can’t do that here




I am sleep deprived

Word weary

I speak gibberish now



3 thoughts on “Hour 22- Poem

  1. ‘Discombooberated’ terrific word play. The moment the bra is fired off because you’re tired and somehow that helps. A good play on words and I’m glad to see another writer using capitalisation. This trend has disappeared in modern poetry. Poetry is an art form and capitalisation makes it easy on the eye! It also clarifies line breaks when line length inhibits this.

  2. “I speak gibberish” is a wonderful way to end a poem. I experienced this feeling in full effect this year especially. “Word weary” is something I feel after writing a great poem, or worse, a terrible one.

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