Nobody reads or writes poetry anymore, and when they do, they shouldn’t. So there is always risk in doing things you shouldn’t.
One of those being you might write something decent, and then what have you done? Buried a good line or two in a form nobody is gonna read. Said the guy who spent a lot of his life reading Tarot cards.
Anyway, if you are the sort to see any suggestion of poems and poetry and you just skip, you should probably skip me altogether. There is always a bit of that in what I do. I don’t mean I like to stand on street corners and read Shelley to passing victims, but that would be a lot better than most of the ways people set out to victimize others, huh?
Finally, I want to thank my long dead cousin, Tybalt Crockett Wright, for doing that 1973 version of Sonnet 123. Ty did not care much for fancy writing, being more a fan of Buck Owens and George Jones. But he had a shot of tequila and a toke of Michoacán, and let fly. I’d say he’s a natural.
