It felt like cupping a shapelessbubble, delicate as a stolen Robin’s egg,yet weightless and resting in nothingness. I should have known it was within me.
energy
Soul Cliche
The growling thunder of my soul. That’s a cliche, isn’t it? But even clichescan tell the truth. In wild isolation, my soul feels crowded by thespecial conditions of living. As if it’s under a crateof cinderblocks, eighty thousand metric tons. I know. Never to use the word ‘soul’-not if you want to be a good poet. […]