It’s like Mad Libs, only not in the back seat of a car or not in the first through sixth grade. It’s also like vomiting on a page everything that your brain won’t let you synthesize into a cogent emotion that you can sympathize with somebody later, when you’re older and less fucked up (or later today, and more fucked up). Oh, and then you take the vomit and you put a frame around it, and probably get rid of most of the uninteresting fluids (leaving the undigested parts, the stomach lining and blood—if there is blood. Actually, blood is more interesting, but will be described as “salient,” “visceral,” or other words that smart people use when they don’t know what else to say).
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maybe modern poetry is just a sequence of verbal poses designed to attract the opposite sex. something like peacocks showing off but with multicolored words. maybe all of the gross things are words that young people use when they don't know what else to say. enjoy your hypomanic moments Leah.
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