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The lute lies rusted in its green case odor of pines is synthetic; sweeteners artificial; even salt!  our tongues crave something dif...

Saturday, January 7, 2017

#7

Something too raw, as though she thought poetry were writing down thoughts in artful language. (Maybe it is!) The language is too artful to connote sincerity by its artlessness (what a fallacy that is anyway!), but utterly forthright in its statements, and the poems are about people I have known, so I weep easily when I read them.  No poem today, only this brief note in prose.




2 comments:

Leslie said...

Gosh, I have to remember to write my neither good nor bad poem "Ants come from rain" that occurred to me the other day. In it, ants do not come from eggs or nests or tunnels and you cannot seek the queen. Instead, they are spontaneously generated from water. There is something about this that I like, I have to remember to work on it.

Bob Basil said...

I love this project, Jonathan.