washout
The whispers of a storm Far out to sea Mumble across brown sugar sand
The whispers of a storm Far out to sea Mumble across brown sugar sand
I don’t feel like creating And I’ve run out of Things to consume
Each turn finds Distinction in The subtle details Of execution
I’m hesitant to say that what I’m finding myself writing is Poetry, or any good, but it does follow the pattern of what poetry is generally accepted to be (structurally at least). So, in the interest of not being too disgustingly self-deprecating, I will say it: I’m writing poetry. A lot of it. And I’m really enjoying it, more than I expected.