fragment 657

by kvennarad

© Marie Marshall

© Marie Marshall

I lay in bed last night, not really able to sleep worth a damn, and thought about poetry. This happens from time to time, particularly in the handful of years since I agreed to write a little spit of something every day. Last night, prone under the covers, I devised a whole essay on poetry. Now I’m at the keyboard I can’t remember one word of it. However, there’s always what I wrote about poetry here…