May 23, 2015
Poem Funk
I am morbidly afraid of my own poetry the way it chases me with the As and the Bs and the Cs. The vowels in particular, are especially nasty projections of irreversible thoughts. I heard there are poets who have the courage to rewrite letters as if anything that is out in the open can be perfected beyond its natural born state. Me, I give the floor to the mighty they always have something to say. Perhaps in their perfectly cosmetic harmony hidden, my voice can find peace.