Open-ended prose

We will stop to write poems
When no longer close-ended.
We will then switch to prose
As we will turn old and gray
In a wispy beard, eyes hoary
Somewhat from a brokenglass.

Broken glass is a watery view
A form that distorts the world
Turns it to an unending prose
The poet’s openending estuary
Into the high seas of oblivion.

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