A bit ago I told a mentor of mine I’d been feeling melancholic (I suppose I still am), he asked me what that meant. I had trouble conveying it but primarily intended to explain that it is little more than an awareness. More or less a constant feeling as a verb, of body and fear and humanity. Anyway, I don’t really want to argue for myself, but perhaps I can explain myself.

I am sorry for disappearing from what I enjoy. I enjoy writing these, so I’m going to try at it again, but also I’ve been writing poetry for a few. I lost my journal so I can’t give you the exact date, but I can ballpark it to some time about two months ago. I guess technically I’ve been writing poetry for years, my whole life even, and I’m not convinced there’s a difference between poetry and prose and conversation at that. Still, humans like to make distinctions and categories, and I’ve made a bit of a collection at this point. Plus, I’m proud of some of it in one fashion or another, and what’s a collection if its not shown off? I think just things…Anyway, here are some things.

There will now be a section here for poetry proper. Oh dear Watts must be so displeased right now, it’s compulsive though.

Anyway, if you’re here, thank you.

-A