I have two poems that are lurking in my editing subconscious. They both unfold slowly, they both have ideas of interest. Neither has a satisfying center of emotional gravitas.

One is sonnet-like in that it takes an interesting turn in tone and philosophical stance. The other has no such turn, stepping itself down the page to…what end?

I’m enjoying (sort of) the mental tinkering — turning the poems inside out, upside down, inquiring of myself exactly what I think I’m trying to address. The answers are not forthcoming. The poems are resisting me.

I feel like if I hold them long enough on my tongue, they’ll release their chewy insides to me. It’s a slow process. I’m so tempted to bite down.


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