Solitary. Outside, watching in.
One of the neatest experiences I’ve had in the writing world happened when I was writing the poem, This Was Supposed to Be About Karl, But it Didn’t End up That Way. It’s just been published by a journal I admire, PANK. I hope you click over to read and listen. At the time, the poem didn’t make entire sense to me — I wrote it down as it appeared. Now, about a year later, it speaks for me. Mysteries aren’t always meant to be solved before their time.