Lately, my poems are like an old picture of me at age 12, when I was homesick and hadn't eaten much of anything for about 10 days . . .
I'm wondering about my non-prose writing lately. It's become quite skinny and broken, hunching along, jerky and painful. When I was young and feeling a similar inclination to write, my lines were Whitmanesque; my poems usually tripartite. Oy. Nevertheless, I'm embracing this strange ride for a while. Perhaps what is on my mind deserves to be presented in skinny, broken, hunching, jerky, painful lines.