so. sometime in a humid January night
(it was, after all, Florida) a child was born.
he made his father miss the championship,
though the crimson tide were, in fact, defeated.
the earth danced its merry way around the sun 19 times.
something like 1,075,343,646 people died, and
something like 2,660,000,000 people were born.
and that one child got skinny and grew arm hair.
some plastic, some copper, some melted dirt,
a little bottled-up lightning,
and now you're reading that kid's mind,
whether you're 3,000 miles away or 3 arms-lengths away.
this blog is about poetry. the title comes from the love song of j. alfred prufrock by t. s. eliot, one of the great modern poems and, incidentally, one of my favorite. as i was saying, though, this little cobwebbed corner of cyberspace is going to be a collecting ground of quotes, art, and poems that i say, write, or come across. feel free to go haywire in the comments. dissect, destroy, discourage. no holds are henceforth barred. the telos, the goal, the point of this whole grammarless mess is to shine light on facets of Christ's creation. anything else is accident.
a few caveats ...
- i don't do capitals while writing. i'll put them in if i quote something (unless it's by ee cummings), or if something's important. sorry. you oh so totally signed up for that the moment you entered this slackwater of a blog.
- there might be some language. i reserve the right to say what i want to. as someone said, "there aren't bad words, only bad places for words." if the word isn't necessary, feel free to tell me in the comments. public sins deserve public rebuke. i will try to keep it clean.
- some of the art that i post pictures of might be nude. not naked, nude. there's a difference.
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