One word is busy constructing the others. It is a carpenter creating props for a play. It takes a rock and makes it a hat. Thus there is now a rock-hat. This stuff becomes real. All that is real becomes props while all that’s not becomes the play. And somewhere in the performance the words start whispering back to us a permutation we hadn’t planned. Strangely, as we, the actors, speak our parts, we grow another body. It is suggested our other body is living under the stage, reciting words of another play which we are simultaneously enacting. And we can feel the floor of the stage about to collapse.
— Douglas Blazek, “The Metaphor”, The Prose Poem: An International Journal, vol. 8 (1999).
I love the prose of this, I need to look into more from Douglas Blazek I think
I love that poem, too. I think there is more of the author’s work in the referred journal.