There are big poems as yet undiscovered within me. They are hidden behind bad memories, submerged in low, foul smelling lakes of recrimination and angst. These words are the marrow in bones that move a body in other directions, and by understanding their significance, the whole of my existence becomes smarter and stronger. I’m away right now, and whilst brain takes a much needed couple of weeks away from a full-time screen, there’s the words that have been left behind.
Starting next Monday, until the end of the month, you’ll get two verses of the New Poetry per day on Monday and Wednesday, with EX/WHI on Fridays. It’s a window into the part of my brain undergoing renovation. You can’t see much through this darkened, dirty glass but let the management assure you that these changes are worth the vastly inflated construction fees, and you’ll be able to see the sea from here. Oh, and you can have the chicken for absolutely nothing. Gratis. All yours, squire.
Strap in people, there’s turbulence coming.
The Internet of Words 
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