May 11-2013
I'm writing a lot of silly stuff lately. Very light stuff. No, that's not quite right. More like getting back to basics. I think I some times try too hard to be a meaningful poet, you know, lots of fancy words, intellectually full of... well, bullshit, I guess. This stuff I'm writing now is really more my speed, I think. I'm a thinker for sure but not all that deep. Imaginative, yes, but not as... I don't know... grand? One of the things I like about writing poetry is there are no set rules to writing other than the rules and the structure and grammar that the poem itself insists on. Here's one of those pieces that told me how it wanted to be presented. S, if you don't like it, blame the poem not me:
My Shadow
My shadow
scratches
at the door.
It wants to go
out, but
I'm tired,
I'm in
for the night.
Whimper all
you want,
I’ll turn
off the light
and go to sleep,
And you'll cease
to exist...
until tomorrow,
that is,
when the sun
wakes me up.
If I wake up.
—rrw o5-11-13
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