what is poetry?
(stupid question, try again)
— when is poetry? —
the raw, brazen shock of truth
created out of nothing

Last night’s dream was of female genital mutilation. A long stretch, you might think, from there to this meditation on ‘what is poetry?’ I can’t really explain how I reached there. Or I could, but it would take too long. I guess I can say though, that the mutilated girl was my first muse in real life. Also the first and truest instance where I dreamed of a girl telepathically and then accepted with my waking mind that the telepathy had been genuine. I really have no idea where I stand on that these days. My whole approach to poetry was born initially out of goddess worship. Poor mutilated goddess. What on earth can be the meaning of such a dream?


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