Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Slack. Does most poetry today suffer from being too unstressed?

Slack and unstressed? Or strident & rant-ish? Perhaps, one might consider a fence. What is one side might not be on the other.


Slack food? Mild tastes & casual appearances. Minimal heat. My eyes are tasting quiet, miniature peppers with only the stress of bold color: yellow, red, and orange.

1 comment:

  1. bombast on a plate
    as in a party circle--
    the vapor of things
    unsaid, undone
    turned into scent--
    oh
    there goes the bus
    missed again when
    shopping fro supper!

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