She asked me how to improve her poetry
I told her to destroy her lovers, neglect her family, and sit alone and lonely until she can’t remember the smell of love, until she can’t remember the thrill of beauty, until all she has left is an empty and fossilized truth that can only destroy her in her quest to stifle the Quixotian quests of strangers
She turned away in disgust. Now she has a computer in her family room and writes rhymed verse about her favorite holidays which she sells for $20 a pop to the local community paper
Another crisis I’ve averted
Another stranger saved
March 19th, 2008 at 10:41 am
true that! i love your poem. you have this honesty about you and there is a phylosophical nature about your poem.
April 14th, 2008 at 2:34 am
Thank you! I love Nikhil’s drawings!