I set out to say that Poetry is useless
but could not bring myself to do it.
A good carpenter does not blame his broken table.
It is not Poetry that is incapable.
This month I have written, I think, nine poems, and most of them did not come with a great deal of planning or forethought. Consequently, none of them are very good. This one slipped out the other night. It sums up my month pretty well.
No comments:
Post a Comment