Na(No)WriMo

I've tried to be a novelist. Ok, let's be honest, I've wanted to try to be a novelist. Fine, more honest-- I've tried to want to try to be a novelist. The summation of all of this effort is that I am not in a place to write 50,000 words in the next month. Ah well. I'll try to try again next year.

In the mean time, I'm going to do what I want. With chutzpah. Sooo, it's time for....

National Poetry Writing Month! Two! 

Poetic anarchy, you cry? Yes, I respond! Isn't it delicious? (Speaking of delicious, please note that the flag of the revolution takes tea as its top-left-most emblem. You're welcome.)

Yes, I realize that I'm probably going to be largely on my own here. I also realize that I'm already behind schedule; it's now 11 minutes into day 2 and I haven't even done my first scritching yet. (Well, except for this, and I'd say it's pretty damn poetic.) But I don't even care! I am SO excited to write 30 poems this month, and I hope you have a moment to nosily rubberneck on my daily collisions with literature's most ancient and best-tastic-est form. From the chilling soliloquies to the desperate 3am catch-up haikus, it's going to be... words. 

To start us off in the right spirit, here's the first:

(1) Whittled

They said that if you just learned to behave,

to memorize your steps

and keep your polished lips from lying,

some iridescent angel would descend

from some blue heaven

to re-make you as a real boy,

and you never expected anything less.

It was such a skillful way

to pull your strings.