Forced Forms – a poem

From opium tinctures falling in water, the ripples

Spread, surcease gained for the nonce, riddles

Spoken that confuse, confound the opiate seeking

Minds and more that search for better ends, dry

Lands well denoted by their shape, regular forms.

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Drop in that loop, force the form if thou darest,

Push the future in ways it wishes not to bend

Around, for time abhors all paradoxes, blaze

Into chaos, those realms that defy order, shape,

The lines that define and drive into language.

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