fallen verses

I just spent the last couple of hours re-reading every poem I’ve posted here.

(point at self) Masochist.

For almost a year and a half of creative efforts, it’s an expected mix of some stuff that’s not bad, and some that’s pretty terrible. Considering these are not really edited or revised, for the most part, and are raw and fresh when hung on the meathooks, I think that’s okay.

The better ones, seems to me, tend to be the ones that really make no sense. Because they do make sense, but in a way that doesn’t make sense. They don’t explain, they just are. Like life.

In a sestina I wrote a while back, I wrote these lines:

An elegant script,
serifs feel personal,
classic choice
and no burden
for printing.

What The Hell? “serifs feel personal?” Where in the world did that come from… It almost cannot possibly be something I came up with: my knowledge of the psychological effect of typography is rather lacking.

Oh well. Some time in the future I bet I’ll read this post and think to myself: “man, I was a raving lunatic!”