Thursday, February 28, 2013

The Impossibility of Poetry In Rockford, Illinois

Writing poetry is hard. Writing about other people writing poetry is even harder. But such is the task I've been assigned with, and accepted. And which I undertook in earnest this morning around 8a.m., seeming to have few other choices when the plumbers got the jackhammer out. I find there's really only one way to counterbalance the sound of a jackhammer while trying to concentrate on a rather sweeping project: listening to a two year old drummer. 

My plan worked. After a few hours of this I find I could write inside a dynamite testing factory. I may not ever be able to crank out anything resembling a coherent sentence again, but when did I ever? 

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