The August Project

The Thought of an Autobiographical Poem Troubles and Eludes Me

But all words are
I use them in my story told
in half sentences
and the quarter turn of mood

Today is a world of sound.
I hear words that mean
landing jet or rustled plastic
a book that depends on poetry.
And the gas, breathing.

I've been leaning against
the names of things
not just walls but the very air
the rug, the pen
the silver garbage bin.

I was reading a magazine today which contained a poem called 'Autobiographical Poem'. In a way, that seems daring in this day and age. Though 'autobiography' is fashionable as a genre.


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