The 21st century finds me, staring down the electric range, so not Plath-able, even with miles of duct tape. A garage full of boxes, of unpacked books, what would Sexton do with that? No place to park after dark, which leaves me, leaving me, out in the open, an empty husk, no one the wiser, to my undoing, my coming undone becoming me.
Plath always expected to be rescued, even from ending herself; Sexton robbed us of her possabilities: if they had explored eachother they might have endured. AB
The gifted and fascinating Urban Poet, Asa D Seeley, once again speaks. He introduces a New Genre of Poetry...Reality Confrontation. Juxtaposed with Essay and staying true to his unique style, Asa brings a breath of...fresh air...to the world of poet
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
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PS: come read me [aamie burnley] at writing.com
Gary