by Marc Meierkort
Dr. Seuss proves practice makes perfect.
A taste for the earliest of persecutions. There’s a subject in there somewhere. Somewhere a baby cries. Damned if babies cry. Foul originates the telling of lies. Augustine that steely raconteur & scoundrel of the self-image. A heated transfer. Personal hatred now humanity’s flaw. From Adam’s first major shit-storm of stupidity & bad manners mistakes made graven. We’ve been slurred from birth. Unchosen. Unformed. Incomplete drawings left to the right side of the shelf marked incomplete drawings. It’s a shame really. This society we call sin. This run on belief says we’ve fallen still but ready to rise. Beside the point of being fully in love with the length of the line there’s room for a subject in there says I am not that sin. I am not that profanely original. |
Marc MeierkortMarc Meierkort of Glendale Heights, IL is currently an MFA candidate in Poetry at Columbia College Chicago, where he is also an assistant editor for Allium, A Journal of Poetry & Prose. A poet and educator, he taught high school English for 19 years. A past Pushcart Prize nominee, his work has appeared in Neologism Poetry Journal, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, The Main Street Rag, In Parentheses, and The Bookends Review.
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