My buddy Isaac asked me to write a ‘Bekah poem’ to be read at his wedding Saturday on a ranch in Austin (congrats, babies! I wish I was there! Eating BBQ! Petting peacocks! and Goats?)….and I think I officially no longer ‘got it.’ Not like I ever really ‘had it.’ I really think that I no longer know how to write a poem. Merde! I used to write them constantly.

Middle school, In my velour journal covered with the moon and stars, all sorts of profundity. It like RHYMED, too. All sorts of really significant stuff involving boys I liked, musings on the purpose of the sun, and you know, my soul, and stuff. And, cats? oppression? camping trips? Church pews? I then went and studied it at UNC and poetry was a HUGE part of my first plays. I used to accuse myself of forcing my characters to be robots for my poetry.

But I think this got beat out of me in grad school, in a good way. And now it’s so far gone, by brain no longer works like it used to. I think poetry or the urge to write a poem comes from having all the time in the world. At least for me. It’s lazier,  it’s dreamier, it stems from wallowing and wandering. I really hope that I at some point in my life earn the right to slow down. At which point, I will write sequels to all of the olds. ‘My Soul, pt. 2.’ ‘He Looked at me, Pt 11.’ ‘Why won’t he look at Me?, cont’d.’ And of course – ‘Cats for Sale, a Memory.’ To answer your original question, yes: I am a Genius.

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