Mutilated truth

Now on the neighbor green bench I wonder how my absence looks like on my original bench. There is a woman sitting on my original bench. Wonder what she is thinking about her neighbor and whether she has noticed an absence on her bench. She is sitting on the bench pretending there is no absence on it.

This morning a word came reluctantly about a mutilation. I took it as a wrong message couched in wrong words. I have found out at the end of the poem that poems are made of mutilated messages.

In between there came a fragmentary truth and somehow there seems a linkage between truth and poem .A fragmentary truth will lead to a whole poem . Because poems are themselves fragments of life.

Fragments are whole poems at the end when the epigram comes. Every poem has to have epigram since you cannot leave the loose end hanging . 

Epigrams are a fragmentary truth. They are fragments of our lives.