Podcast #5: February 3rd, 2022
Again, the first piece this week is from my self-published chapbook, Curt; Urbane. If you’d like to read this plus the other poems I wrote, you can order a copy by clicking this link.
Stigma Marked down, tattered remains redemptive path-strewn negatives; dismiss their intellectual arrogance none of that is yours to give. As brain won’t scan, subordinate distant anger closely reined, relived tear stained rejection etched on fingertips: pencil to key, listen to me branded self-failure, eternity, bereft. Fifty-three autumns past, now know here remains right place to be. Let poems fall, bring them back up, to fail, most vital skill of all. Wear badge of shame, strong pride, reborn unafraid of tears inside other’s definitions not required. Rules restricting portent’s present tense: no need for anything except myself.
I think a lot of non-writers believe that the idea of writers being struck by inspiration whilst in the shower or in the middle of the night is hyperbole. It absolutely isn’t. This poem is the inevitable moment when you had the idea, but by the time you got to write it down…
Inspiration Freedom, constrained words I never had, suddenly regained from those dark depths of itching fear that sends skin on edge and teeth to rot lost in synaptic overlap between fractal and noise being easier to grasp than hold, let slip away knowing hard truth between those lies I told myself that this is truest moment ever made by words and now fucking hell it’s gone.