Monday: four pills, swallowed without thinking. Tuesday: four, still routine, still background noise. Wednesday: three — the doctor's gentle optimism. Thursday: three, and a headache I didn't expect. Friday: two, and the headache has a name now. Saturday: two, white-knuckled, counting hours.Sunday: one.Monday: none.And somewhere under the missing weight of them,my own pain, waiting exactly where I left it.
About the concrete poemA poem whose shape on the page is part of what it means.
A concrete poem uses line length, spacing, and even the literal arrangement of words to draw a picture of its subject — the visual layout isn't decoration, it's doing some of the poem's work. There's no syllable count or rhyme to follow here; the only rule is that how it looks matters as much as what it says.
Listen for Whether the words' shape on the page is doing some of the describing itself, not just the words.
2 poems in this form →@declan
Chronically ill, incurably funny about it.
6 poems · 5 readings received · 3 written · 0 followers
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Matched by shared theme or form. Where two match equally, the one still waiting for a first reading comes first.