Where does it come from, I don't really know. It just comes sometimes like a faucet rushing full blast and I'm trying to contain all that comes out. Other times, there is nothing, for days and months and it's quiet.
"An Ethereal Poem," (first titled, "Congregate") is one of my very favorite things I've ever written, and sort of just came out. It was a bitter cold winter and I was sick of the bitterness, longing for warmth and signs of life. The crows joined in my misery with their "cold cries."
No comments:
Post a Comment