in which the poet writes a play
Today, riding the inspiration of the past week's spooky theater going shenanigans, I wrote the first scene in a spooky play. I did not write another poem for my american cyclorama manuscript, which sits currently at about 30 pieces give or take. I did not work further on the horror essay project I am thinking may eventually be a book on writing horror poems, or maybe just the horror, itself, of writing poems. Instead, something new was emerging that may or may not be a thing just yet. A small kernel before turning to paid freelance or press work for the day. Last night, in bed, an idea for dramatic subject matter occurred to me, so over breakfast, instead of starting the day's poem, which I am back to penning first thing while my head is still fresh. While writing a play as a whole feels huge and foreboding, I told myself as I followed the scent of coffee out to the dining room that doubles as my studio/office, I could start small. Like a seed. Like a poem. One scene. The open...
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