Itβs your privilege to find me incomprehensible. I gave you my minutes; let them remain ours. I hope I haunt you.
the next time you hear someone in a workshop remarking on how good a particular free-verse line or passage sounds, scan it. The odds are that it will fall into a regular metrical pattern.
Poetry Is The Language Of Mysticism & Discourse. It Is The Whisper In The Dark, The Shadow In The Light. Poetry Is An Incantation From The Depths Of Your Very Soul.
