|Meal Beach, Burra Isles, Shetland by Robin Gosnall|
and depressed the
waves wash through me. The lie
"I'm okay" sparkles on my face
written 3/12/13 for The Mag 159
I've been practicing cinquains on Twitter and most of them are more statements than poems. I'm still working on whatever it is that separates poetry from pose*...what is that? My poetic voice? Maybe I'm a little too much in my head right now.
*okay, so a few hours later, i come back to reread this and see that i wrote "pose" instead of "prose". i thought about just editing it, but then wondered if it was a freudian slip, or is it that my "r" is not wanting to work?