JAMESON REID

is a writer,

filmmaker,

digital artist,

and student

of media study.

Slant Poem

 

 In our age

   Poetry is dead

     For the writers are the readers.

        In my age

          We are sliding

            And there is nothing to mark our descent.

               We try,

                  Communities try,

                    They just always run out of time.

                        But their minds,

                          the world’s spirit

                            Are represented somewhere.

                               Still It’s

                                 Sad that

                                    I don’t think it will matter.

                                      I don’t want

                                         to ask

                                           such sad and lonely questions.

                                              What is real?

                                                 What is violence?

                                                    What is expression?

                                                        Fame or

                                                          Change in

                                                             the heavy or lightness of being

                                                                A swirling

                                                                  Blackness covers

                                                                    every step or motion on the track.

                                                                       Encircling

                                                                         While we circle

                                                                           Making me stop before I can.

                                                                              At a place

                                                                                That is

                                                                                  Unreasonably noisy and still.

                                                                                    A fugitive dream

                                                                                       Or ephemeral

                                                                                         hopes fill my head

                                                                                            Like I am

                                                                                              Gone but not

                                                                                                Quite willing to go

NAME Magazine UNIVERSITY AT BUFFALO 2020