explore at will while will's structure's still and
don't naysay the rhymer.
who grew up battling
alzheimers'
trumpet blown off-course of course, how else can one have blown?
the effort it takes to type a word
is too easily read as meta, these days.
maybe if they knew what it takes for me to type a single world
they'd start feeling the things i've felt, rather than the real purpose of poetry:
which is to engage in a conversation
act as exemplars that associate
positively, engage darkest
doubts
that they too stand a chance in the future to be read, and be
exemplars in their own right.
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