Hello all,
I am posting very early today. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and my fiancé has Covid, so this will be an odd holiday. Anyway, this poem is about why I write poetry, even though it may not be particularly uplifting. I don’t think poetry should worry about inspiration, though. Let me know what you think, if you decide to read it.
Best,
JCO
It Didn’t Work
I am the language heap:
The rhetorical reticence
Of whetted depression’s
Undying session of self-
Reflection, linguistically
Less than, a listless
Disaffection and unlearned
Lessons of expression; this
Mention’s an invention
To escape this obsession.
Jogging the Mind 