Now is the time to write about roses. My friend, Kim, painted this scene, and she cherishes it’s dramatic colour. It immediately brought to mind the short story by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, called The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World. Between the image, the story, thoughts on consecration, and news from Europe of desecration, I struggle with turning a bouquet of sentences and phrases into a linear poem. Am I simply unable to get my thoughts in order, or have I chosen the wrong medium? Will this work’s style be impressionistic, or should it have an end-point, even a pointed end-point? The answer, sez Bob, is blowin’ in the wind.
write write write. then when you are done, keep writing.