the ice of poetry, glassine smooth but charged hardness, hits you, ****** you, unexpected snowball in the face,
the fire of poetry, cherished phrase, a patois, comfort food when whole winter skies swallow you bleak
mutual contradictions of poetry savaging the soothed ego, revealing the raging id
what's in a word anyway?
It's overcast cloudy and I got nothing. No vision, no inspiration...it's Fathers Day and won't hear from my kids...I got nothing...so I stumbled on this golden oldie from long ago