Poetry versus Prose (Act One)

I can throw my thought pieces on the page, shuffle and shift them, rap them out like Tupak, or shape them like a slam – and I’m done.  Then it becomes the reader who must make something out of them.  If I’m skillful enough, the reader wants to make the effort.  If not, they skip or delete.  For me, that’s poetry.

When I write in sentences, I have to think harder.  I have to figure out how to connect all the rail cars of my meaning and intent.  When I write in sentences I understand crimes of passion.  I see how some might resort to emotion and not wait to connect all the dots.  So doing, they might take a lead pipe and pummel a verb that won’t move … simply because it blocks the adjective they had planned on using for neurons and holds hostage the process of liquid expression.  I can justify bludgeoning a noun that cheats with a different verb than originally committed.  I have no qualms about firing point blank into a conjunction that leaves me waiting while my transmitters run around in circles looking for “therefore.”

Writing poetry is therapeutic.  Prose is risky for my mood.  But I crave it like the adrenaline junky needs a bungee cord.
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