Too many people who know
too many things. Could they
possibly know it all?
Having read some poetry,
having taken some classes,
having memorized some poems?
They gently execrate
each other using words
like flow, meter, cliche
(the most damning),
craft and strophe.
Dissecting the poems
while they still breathe.
Unfolding skin,
turning bone to
examine tendons.
They will come for you
if you ask.
They will come.
And when it is done
let your epitaph read,
“He Believed In His Simple Voice.”
Workshop
02 Wednesday Jan 2013
Posted poems
in
Memories of graduate school workshops.
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writing workshops give me panic attacks. guess i’m not destined for greatness 😉 this skin ain’t thick.
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I like your words more each time I visit. Glad you came by to remind me.
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Thank you so much for taking the time to read my poetry.
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The pleasure was mine.
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