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February 28, 2008
Poetry is weird.
I donít get it.
I understand poems, I just donít get poetry.
It lives and breaths and ebbs and flows.
I spent four hours on one poem that became two then one then two again.
I donít even know if I like it.
I wrote for another two hours,
with breaks for Taylor Mali and Sara Kay and the rest of Urbana,
trying to pen a manifesto,
only to have it interrupted by the flow of a poem I didnít even know I wanted to write.
And its better! I think.
And thatís the problem, I think.