fallen                                                     January 20, 2016
you complain of being uninspired.
have you gone blind
or merely put on the critic’s glasses?

a poet is always inspired. the poet’s eyes
see the sound of the garbage pail
and a poet’s ears hear the smell of snow.

the critic sees trash and feels cold.

the poet’s tongue tastes the texture
of a cat hissing and her skin
feels the odor of ripening peaches.

the critic tastes sour green fruit
and feels bloody claw tracks.

the poet’s nose smells the trembling earth
and her balance is thrown off by the shape of a drop

the poor critic smells tears and falls on his face.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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