kenroome

For me?
It pretty much happened like Pablo said, how one day poetry just shows up looking for you,

and you, feeling a bit scared, like when you ended up with the tall off-balanced girl for a lab partner and actually had to talk to her, honestly, then realizing how beautiful she was,

became a good friend. Took the side of the chaotic, defended the skewed, praised the divinely multi-dimensional.
You wrote what you felt. Put your reserve on the shelf and twisted the words into new directions.

It’s a poem because it feels.

So I wander the streets til I get enjambed with something that makes no sense but still feels like a truth needing a place to sit. Some how I have to synthesize: listen to to screamer at the corner; divine how the world speaks through beauty and tragedy and mystery. I love art. Art is what reaches down into the bag of godstuff and creates something that only you can make. Art is singularly you.