The growling thunder of my soul.
That’s a cliche, isn’t it? But even cliches
can tell the truth.
In wild isolation, my soul feels crowded by the
special conditions of living. As if it’s under a crate
of cinderblocks, eighty thousand metric tons.
I know. Never to use the word ‘soul’-
not if you want to be
a good poet.
But that’s like telling Einstein and Eddington that
they cannot use the word ‘energy’ to describe atoms.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, the Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in the USA Today, Wall Street Journal, the Atlantic, the Havana Times, the South China Morning Post, the Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.