The past is a drunk ex-husband.
The future is a mysterious, smiling stranger.You gonna ride this one through, baby?
Wasted and torn, you know you still can’t get off.We’re in it for the long haul.
Strap yourself in and let’s go.
At the Performance Poetry workshop I attended yesterday, we looked at some videos of performers. One of them had a few notes playing in the background and the performer speaking in a characteristic singsong, often-rhyming style. I blurted out, “But that’s rap!” The others smiled and told me that rap…
I’m reclaiming my right to write. There’s much I’ve felt and been and heard and wanted to say but didn’t. A relationship, an engagement, a bitter breakup…aren’t all of these fodder for a feeling writer? And yet I’ve been quiet. I’ve been under a self-imposed gag order that no one…
Final Destination!