Sunday, January 11, 2009


Someone asked me what I "do."
"Write, I guess."
"Oh, like, fiction?"
"No. Poetry."

His eyes blinked slowly, cocky, sure they would open again.

As I write this I get flashes of all the things I have heard people say in regards to other people's writing.

"Trying too hard"
"Too much something"
"Not enough something else"
"Boring, Meaningless, Stupid"

They opened to no resonance - two stones skipping in a drained pond.

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