When you peel the poem off your back, it Comes undone, it sticks back on to dear life. That is the last breath of the unstuck poem As it unravels its fight before your lies. Your ink will not think its grief as if it is bound to a stone out of gratitude - it will not sink, it will not be any briefer than it has to be.
I thought this was a beautiful visual, I’m not a poet by any stretch but I’m challenging myself to really start getting my ideas out in the world and your words really resounded with me. Thank you 🙂
Thanks Sam. Music always to hear such nice words. All the best with your recent plunge in the wordsmith’s workshop 🙂
This is genius!
And you are too kind, Tammy, thanks 🙂