This is another magically perplexing poem with hallways down which your words chase me as well, trying to deal with titles (Dr. Underwood, Assessment Guru, Recreation Center Supervisor, Professor) that chopped me up or down to size while Kafka poured water down my pants too and Whitman offered me a grass salad with lilac dressing. Titles carve microscopic pathways inside hallways so millions of us can fit and move at one time, but deep inside we long for the innocence of a lemon aid stand. What I enjoy so much about your work is the authority you give me willingly to dance with the poet on my frail legs as though no one is watching. It’s such a freeing experience. Thanks for this. I’ll be coming back to it for some fizzle.
This is another magically perplexing poem with hallways down which your words chase me as well, trying to deal with titles (Dr. Underwood, Assessment Guru, Recreation Center Supervisor, Professor) that chopped me up or down to size while Kafka poured water down my pants too and Whitman offered me a grass salad with lilac dressing. Titles carve microscopic pathways inside hallways so millions of us can fit and move at one time, but deep inside we long for the innocence of a lemon aid stand. What I enjoy so much about your work is the authority you give me willingly to dance with the poet on my frail legs as though no one is watching. It’s such a freeing experience. Thanks for this. I’ll be coming back to it for some fizzle.