William Park Poems

Let me speak, show to you heavenly Ideas exist
Contemplate the virtuous, the Just, the Evil.
Ponder the Real, the not-Real, the (meta) physics.
By when you think exist, the truth out there
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Commence my communion sitting on the cold porcelain toilet.
Flip through the holy book of fiction in search of where I once left.
Rest the elbows on my strong thighs.
Adjust the eyes for the intense reading.
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Knowing I is about repetition and more repetition.
The self is a grammatical craft.
Being metered,
Having the blues and
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and you are the most depressing thing of this time.
I think it is about me,
but I am stuck staring at you.
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