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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
| What Will I Type? Sober after my first cup I stare at a wood, oval top perfect for plates, evenly spaced, decorated with folded napkins of whatever design and the purposed forks, ornate spoons married at their side, hidden from the seldom-used but dutiful butterknife, erect at attendance. Perfect for that, but what I see are a collection of folded statements and letters with windows empty, mingling with scribbles and scratchings on errant notes, a purposed power cord attached to an iPhone next to an empty, stained white cup. The reading glasses are not to be found. So, I type on this illuminated distraction wide with characters and connected despair. What will I type tomorrow?
I recently read other noteworthy poets I've had the pleasure of connecting with (in the real world) and reminded I want passion in my writing, not just prose broken into lines to punctuate colorfully depicted anecdotes from life. I want more out writing than a flat vignette that passes for poetry; but, a deep, subdural connection to ignorant, hidden regions of a flailing anatomy full of uncompromising chemicals bathing its psyche. Gah! I hate where that last sentence went...but, I'm not changing it. And, I'm not apologizing. Suck it, Neitzsche! “Man’s misfortune was that he was once a child.”  |
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