author - "Kellie Podsednik"
This poem was inspired by an intoxicating relationship than nearly drove me to irrationality. In my blindness, I loved this man, but my soul was crying out in pain, of which oozed through in this poem. Without my knoweldge, my pen had created a sonnet, in perfect rhythm and meter. Form was begging to return, and though it took months to acknowledge it, form was the victor.
A young lady finds herself in want of a precious heirloom, and with no more than a dancing leaf child and her curious intuition to guide her, she sets off to reclaim what once was hers.
When recovering the dead Bartleby, the coroners happened upon a letter hidden inside the poor souls coatpocket. It was a queer letter, and was almost tossed to the flame, but, by happenchance, this letter came into my possession. Upon reading the tale, I have found, in my heart, that poor Bartleby's story must be told. Here I present to you the document in its full, unadulterated form.
This poem was inspired by an intoxicating relationship than nearly drove me to irrationality. In my blindness, I loved this man, but my soul was crying out in pain, of which oozed through in this poem. Without my knoweldge, my pen had created a sonnet, in perfect rhythm and meter. Form was begging to return, and though it took months to acknowledge it, form was the victor.
A young lady finds herself in want of a precious heirloom, and with no more than a dancing leaf child and her curious intuition to guide her, she sets off to reclaim what once was hers.
When recovering the dead Bartleby, the coroners happened upon a letter hidden inside the poor souls coatpocket. It was a queer letter, and was almost tossed to the flame, but, by happenchance, this letter came into my possession. Upon reading the tale, I have found, in my heart, that poor Bartleby's story must be told. Here I present to you the document in its full, unadulterated form.