The Shape of Autumn (thinking)

i've tried to write in a form similar to those before me, but i have not felt impressed. Or i have not been impressed upon to endure the particularity of a craft so neatly devised that i must address each word with careful precision -as if i were wrenching together a plane that will one day carry passengers. Lives are not at stake, nor are dreams. No matter what we read, we bear not the notes that were strung, but the melody we can sing to: rhythm and blues. Maybe a weakness of mine, but form does not represent itself well enough in my state of mind, and i cannot control it like i do the particularities of language. Sure, the overarching thought generated from inside of my head to my fingers, then unto my paper with pen fantastically describes those relationships that ricochet through and through my readers' imaginations, memories, and current surroundings, but what form is there to name of that situation? The scattering of light. A fracture of sight. We are blind, and in blindness we live out our lives, says he who created those words to be emulated. Then again, what sight are we discussing? i have long since begun to write in linear lines, stanzas of numerical meters, maybe eight or nine syllables acting like piano keys: the ebony. i don't agree with ivory, nor do i pronounce it correctly. You see, it's a rebellious act -placeholding in places where people don't roam. There are no forms to accommodate the "Starbucks" cafe or the actions the organization itself has done. No meter representing my favorite bookstore, nor the sound that plays overhead. No syllabic accents to match the conversation outside the Berkeley comic book shop (men making deals with cards, books, and child's toys, then imagining themselves mounting the womens' softball team that's in town). Where does the first accent in their language occur? -at the words that comprise the word "fuck," or the sound of their thumbs riding along the inside of their jeans, just at the line delineating their abdomen. And their plausible wet dreams? Do they deserve a virile scene, pictured with words like "unbuttoning," "lips," and "foreskin"? Frames are the rules of our visionary. Margins, the meandering sentries. And until we develop a "form" that imitates correspondence, no matter, writing will outlast creativity.