Poetry... at least what's left of it, is all I have to contribute to this modern world inundated with a few hundred years of beauty and ingenuity beyond the whole collection of mankind, at least in comparison to the last 100,000 years. What we have accomplished as a species is incredible. But with that, the joy of prose, rhyme, verse, and thoughtful contemplation via creative weavings of words is a dead art. Perhaps this is because there are only so many ways to describe the color blue before the yawnings commence and repetition ensues.
So I emphasize, if you like the way poetry sucks, then let this vacuum have its way with your mind and swirl you at 3am into the vacant places of the internet.
Welcome to what may have once been the works of a great poet, perhaps born on the wrong planet in the wrong season of its solar system in the vast and endless void of space and what we call time.
View all posts by Cal Eb
Poetry Sucks 