I refuse to apologize for youthful appearances, but lady, Just be knowing this: my soul is older than your soul, Guaranteed - its proven by your poem (which is not hasty Dismissal. I liked the piece you read and don't resent at all The jingling it has made in your pockets.) However, I could Never have said "bald" without risking kaleidoscopic grammar Portals opening, chancing being transported to some backwood Barnyard - its frightening how words go all wormhole scrambler On us. Why, yesterday I was sitting in my aunt's warm kitchen When somebody said "heat." Suddenly the scene became a risky Ride on New Years Eve, feeling up, dirty boots in Maine's exigent January. Any given letter trips up fifty separate wires, whiskey Sticks in the connections. Small words are simply too involved For me. Your sit so neatly on their own lines, mine devolve.
~CRH September 2012 Note: Feel free to share my work with others but please use my name if you do.