us like circus animals

i can’t say that i blame you. bravo, people change. my mother used to tell me our tastebuds regenerated every seven years. i once swore i’d only read and enjoy plath, bukowski, and cummings. i associated with them solely because of where i was in life. spending a majority of my time in college and the rest of it in small cafes. now, i work all week, drive around new england with a large heart on the weekends, and the only time i ever read poetry is in bed. now i can’t live without carl sandburg, c.k williams, and w.c. williams. as for art? i can’t take that (or anything) personally. everything is an experiment. i’ll never write like rimbaud. i’ve found it’s easy for those to denounce the roots and say it is the flowers that are cultured. maybe you should’ve practiced putting emotion behind those SAT words. then you would have never had to envy anything.