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 prose. 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 2:

I used to hate hearing we only understand by contrast but
Then I learned by contrast
Still not there, but now I’m learning about
Masculinity from my wife
Massacre from my life
Ignorance from books
Literature from good-looks
(and the looks of good books)
Blue from orange, green from red
The feel of a party from the size of my head
Heat from the cold (that took me awhile to
live in the winter with genuine joy)
Riches from the poor
Poverty from the rich

Poetry from prose and
other vice versas.