I think one of my problems with putting together some sort of anthology is that whenever I reach the time slot allocated to ‘organizing’ writing… I get distracted and start writing poems for some reason.
Something in me at the moment insists on creating. So create now… organize in near future. I’m usually insanely organized down to my Virgo sun but things like seasons and stars and life start to distract me and the next thing you know… bang… poetry.
Or maybe it’s the potential devastation of offering years of life to any eager listener with the likely possibility of utter rejection.
… When the entire purpose of the work is to disprove such possibility.
Here’s something I wrote this morning…
(i love you)
in a different way.
that made me
in one way.
a time of