One word can also start a poem.
I mean it’s easy to see I’m / just quizzical folly but moon / light shines and I take on the / appearance of princely
until you make up your mind / to learn to fly
what good / is the awe / of stars / if we see / only that / we are / worlds apart?
As darkness / inclines itself toward / the stars / There will be a / breath of air / That will become / the exhale of our united sigh
the more you wait / the more you drown in time // so just smile
I am other / sound of thunder
Freed in a passion that’s a part of me / no choice in the matter it’s compulsory like Rilke / fixed rhythm or tantric dissonance
Biggie rhyming hippopotamus with preposterous did me in. That was it. I was like, Okay, maybe there is more to sonics than just sonnets and nursery rhymes. Exceptional things happen here.
With time I eased into it. I would spit a couple lines (all spit, no lines) at a time. Okay a few words here and there, then lines came. I’d follow along to what my friends were saying and how they were doing it, listening to the moments of flow and for their solutions to stumbling through. I laughed a lot. I thought a lot. I listened.