Poetry is the sound of every bone in your chest breaking
It’s sitting at the keyboard and bleeding (Hemmingway)
It’s feeling the tip of the bulls horn as it breaks the skin and keeps going
Its the weight of water breaking the connection between your feet and the stone
Its the freedom within falling and the life ending sudden stop
Poetry is Yes, and no and please stop, please.
No … it’s not rocket science … its standing within the blast using words.