Hi Tropicana,
This poem strikes me in two lights. The first is that it was written -- like most poems are -- at the onset of personal, emotional breakdown. The second (a consequence of the first) is that the question of where poetry becomes prose -- or vice-versa, however you wish to view it -- is answered in this poem.
The first light requires you to set this aside, move on, then return. You can not complete poetry without time. Indeed, the conceptual aparatus that frames most poetry is time itself, so utilize that.
The second light requires you find your voice--a difficult thing to do.
As for now, I am not overtaken with emotion, and I feel like I have read a perhaps heartfelt but inarticulate entry in Chicken Soup.
Good luck with this,
Brad
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