No Reverberating Crunch
I think form in poetry
(in all sorts of writing)
is akin to math: without meaning
until we are talking the likes of
apples and oranges; buildings
and their elucidating inhabitants:
what goes into, and then comes
from our hearts – minds that dream...
The crux of any communication
is what is being said, how it is
being said~and whether the discourse
is perceived alive or sterile –
I do not want my works to have the
equivalency of genetically modified seed,
producing one crop, going no further than
one mouth; adding no reverberating
crunch to the ear of humanity~myself preferring
cremation to the dormancy of an embalmed grave....
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