Up in Smoke
This is a poem I wrote today, with the inspiration of a country song. It's about losing my mom to her own choices, in the midst of illness and a blended "family."
Newish Author; Oldish Writer.
I've come to understand that most people can hear and know the truth by another name: FICTION.
The internet and smartphones give me hives.
My faithful experiences come from the texture of life, so it's only natural that my faithful words should belong to the texture of paper.
I am a slow reader, but I am quick to write.
I savor long, parenthetical, and adjective-laden sentences.
I've noticed that the penultimate comma is making a comeback, and after much literary consideration; I've made peace with the fact.
I'm old fashioned; and I like to know the rules, but mostly so I can break them.
Isn't that why rules exist; so we can explore what lies beyond them, and then joyfully smash them to bits, ever so artfully?