Damned Poetry

Poetry be damned The grey coloured straightjacket of poetry I have, like, Houdini freed me of these shackles flowers, loveliness and mendacities. An unbearable burden getting buried by a ton of rotten blooms. I am free! Fly from tree to tree not seeing the foliage, soar higher than anyone before so elevated, the blue planet is a bauble on a Christmas tree. I land in a potato field with ordinary colours and brown soil and when flowers from Amsterdam are in season I`m free to wade in a muddy pool, wear yellow wellies towing on a string a tiny sailboat that (as by magic) becomes a three mastered schooner. All this because I ain´t no poet but a writer and can use double negatives if I so wish (from my book When Beelzebub Ruled) Poetry and vignettes)