This poem should not exist,
and yet it does. It survived
hours of mental revisions,
forgetfulness, and uncertainty
from its creator in order to manifest
onto this plane–digitalized from
0s and 1s into lines that form words;
archaic pictographs I hope one day
will become obsolete. If I have a desire,
it is to be alive to witness that day come
to fruition, where words are no longer
needed and communication isn’t regulated
by the twin bastards connotation and denotation.
Vocabulary would be non-existent.
What needs to be expressed and the means
to express and translate it already reside
in us, even in the most ignorant of minds.
Words–the basis of this artificial and synthetic language–
breed prejudice. I see grammar now, for what it is–
And I wish this poem was never written.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen