On this cold, rainy Los Angeles night as cloud piles move overhead and wind blows and rattles the windows of Moss Cottage, I deliver a poem. That I took the liberty of cutting into pieces. Because when I'm not cutting paper scraps I'm cutting up poems. Here.
God bless the experimental writers.
...help them as they
type away, knowing their readers
are few, only those who love to toil
over an intricate boil of language,
who think books are secret codes.
Every day they
tack improbable word onto im-
by Corey Mesler
My sister sent me that poem. My other sister sent me a long envelope today. I thought it was a letter. Inside 2 security envelopes.
Goodnight. Back tomorrow with the winner of the giveaway!