i made it...thru a lot ..in recent times. and lately i've been thinking about the poems i write, well the ones that write me, the ones that form their own words and divine the future. who needs tarot cards, tea leaves, or crystal balls. a pen and knapkin wil do just fine. but the words don't erase when the message is doom. so now that i am writing again, i am recalling this danger and wondering if maybe i should stick with prose. prose come with thought, there's an intervention of mind, that is often absent in poetry. poetry is like water. it flows unstoppable and reaches every crevice of lower ground. undini, am i an undini? i was told once i am, but i don't even know what the words mean.
i reconnected to the pyschotic times of an earlier era, my god i am so grateful to be on solid ground.