Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three. Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest having to do with non-poetic words. I realized January 19ththat I will turn twenty-four in three months, and since I started writing some poems before it’s too late: forty-six poems at twenty-three. I’ll post each Friday until the last week of March, then I’ll post one a day until my birthday on April 30th. Here’s number 26:
Commitments constrain
profane
illuminate the same old same
Sometimes you keep
Sometimes you slip
Sometimes you miss them in your sleep
Best to let ‘em make you come
alive than to help ya
die
