Like the third monkey fighting to get on Noah’s ark! The overthinking ape of excuses I keep hearing – I will not miss the boat because all of you are stuck with me. I am not a monkey, nor the Lone Ranger, nor a money-bound thing – but stranger I see new on you (clearer on me because me is all I see at the hour). New are you. New to be is me. William Tell has told me to revel a spell with you.

Poetry is music. Rock-and-Roll is the rowdy big brother of the blues, and the news is: Poetry isn’t pathetic anymore. Talk in a bathroom stall at 2am and convince me that it’s more than before; about the sounds I like most that mend into a skin that can create. Create: To begin, to be me, to love you for being you, and in the end, begin again with another one of your voices. I’ll speak with you as long as the land holds me still.

To Begin: Don’t shout to deliver a sliver of yourself, or the world, or the items on a takeout menu. Poets: We are not horrible obligations. In the years ahead we will sing, and once sung we do not have to begin. It is begun. Sing, sing, sing you precious nightingales. Shoot up! Let’s flood the sky before the clouds can pour down.

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