I don’t believe in writer’s block. Or muses. I do believe in depression, habit, boredom, self-fulfilling prophesy. And Chaos. I believe a poem is a well-constructed box with drawers. Anything can go into it, but if you put all your energy into making the box perfect, the contents will suffer. And if you build a slipshod box…well.
We’re not going to concentrate on building Faberge eggs. Just some drafts that you can gild and polish later. Now and then, we’ll consider form and function, but most days we’ll be working on the marbles and screws and old silver dimes to stash. Quantities. We want to get you loose-jointed and a little bit crazy. Later, you can work on polish.