Outgrowth

Photo by Emiliano Vittoriosi on Unsplash

Hello Dear Ones, and welcome to another unfinished draft — more unfinished than most. Sometime if I get half of a poem drafted in lines and rhythm that feels decent, I find I have to stop and write out the idea for the rest of it in ordinary, halting prose. That’s what happened with today’s breath. I am sharing with you both the “poemed” portion and the prose notes for the rest of it.

I’m curious, what do you do when you have the idea but not the words or the structure?

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWhen the not-thisness of the momentgets down to the level of the boneseven the air as it parts around meraises welts along the dermatomes.The coat called The Person You Used to Behas picked up an odor -- sharp like vinegar -- and though it still blocks the cold, wind, and rain,it feels like dirt on my new-washed skin. (there is a choice to be made here between the comfort and safety of the uncomfortable stinky dirty person and the terror, the instability and the lack of safety of the free clean and healthy person.)

Do you need a space to breath, and notice, and create in the presence of other folks? Join me for Wednesday Morning Open Studio. Come when you can, stay as long as you like.