My Campaign is Flawed
It’s Tuesday and the US is voting. Voting for someone to blame for all the ills that befall us for the next four years. We shall see how that plays out, but regardless it’s just another Tuesday for Denise R. Weuve (AKA Inkdamage).
If I was running for anything (which is not something I would ever do) I think I would press forward with the ideal of poetry as healing. Granted you can’t tear a page of Bukowski out of What Matters Most is How You Walk Through The Fire and cover the blood gushing wound in your gut that magically beings to close up with the mere touch of the page as if the words were stitches. If anything, Bukowski would problem make the wound burn with all the alcohol fermenting the page, but still. . . poetry heals the mind, or maybe allows the past to find a home on a piece of paper instead of in your soul digging at your being turning you old and bitter… (Who needs ObamaCare when you can sit in a room with Sharon Olds and Deborah Garrison and watch their lives unfold, rip, and mend in under 100 poems).
Maybe, but on days like these I’m not sure anything will fix the broken pieces