A poem that isn’t willing to fight for its life is not worth pursuing.
Category: Blog
Triage
Triage the fuck out of your potentials. Yeah, sure, you can try to save that one poem’s life, but don’t be surprised when it turns out to be a disaster. You can’t save a poem that doesn’t want to live.
A Blog (a first)(an exclamation mark)
I am have become emergent in no small part due to this ally. Not to imply catalyst, but fire. Another connection flares, instantly welded as tangles of continuum bang and bump in the drift. There, in that maelstrom, is born Poemcraft.
But latter. I’ll tell you all about it, later. For now up under About is my Manifesto in Progress.
Hey Transition Era Pink Floyd fan, have you ever gotten exceedingly stoned and meditated with Echoes?
(Making up the whole Transition Era thing, just figured you’d’ve pushed beyond Waters. (And I’m making that up, because it sounds cool.) The point is Echoes is kinda lame to meditate to. Making the whole thing pointless. Except as an exercise. What might that be?)
Addendum 1
The blip leads you in
and the ice-box joins humming along
(allies, you understand what this means)
the a.c. kicks on friend or foe
is no longer always the fundamental question
Addendum 2
There is enough time to get your life together before the 8th blip.
Regret, cold feet, and should have known better
You have to let your face go before the voices arrive.
Let it go. Ease it slack and poof
If you start shaking it’s because you’re not breathing.
Breathe, don’t gasp
let your face go
And here are the voices, singing by the sounds of it. And, yeah, that’s what voices do here. Singing, I guess. But not to you, not for you.
Addendum 3
it’s the face
the face
the face
the face
the face
the face
the face
breathe
and the voices pull you out
into the warm glow which is your smile
a face to let go
Addendum 4
you remember the face
remember the face
remember
and the voice
and the breath
Addendum 5
remember first the face
then the breath
then the voice is
if not savior
then anchor
Addendum 6
this time there is no remembrance for face or breath
this is only voice and you don’t know what you were just thinking
there’s a wave of aggression: of learned anger and perfect bitterness
that you don’t remember because something made you smile
nope
singularity is what they call it when everything crashes together and sucks you down; when in a neighborly attempt to allow a folk to save face he batters you in the opening. not fucking again is what i call it.