I believe that I do. I've spent the better half of a decade trying not to act my age
because of lack of definition. You know, the creation is greater than
the creator. Interestingly I've tried to remove the me from poetry.
If only in hindsight. There is an altered state here that needs to be described.
For instance I wrote this last night:
Vinyl
The dog walks have become treks straight south
then round and round a center until a decision is made.
Half what fills this place is a skyline hiding the moon,
the rest beg-borrow-and-steal.
Someone near the gas station last week
gave me 5 twenties for a 5 even after I explained
hard-cut reality as soft as a shopper can.
A woman's shadow vacates the bright side of a glass door.
I know words of movement and stations-in-life
will tempt her near the coat rack on the way to the dining room.
Soon, I`ll listen to a music so well played
it will escort me to the other side unless I find
its bid for superfluous cliche.
There has been something not right with the curve of time
since my family became happy and some place else.
I`ll flip on another excess from the seventies
we were so sure would take us all the way.
it is what it is
On a more lucid note, your poetry is rich and filled with life.
Like only a few other internet poets I know of, you seem to feel the texture of the paint
as it flows between phrase, between sentences. Somehow the shape of the words is rounder.
I suppose all poets do this to a degree.
Cheers, I'm procrastinating on a task,
(therefore I have all the time in the world)
