Minding My Chaos

What if poetry weren¿t created in a classroom¿.what would it sound like if it were written by regular walking around people? What if it were ABOUT regular walking around people? What if it demanded more than reading, more than comprehension? What if it demanded that the walking around people crash right on through their regular parts to ask themselves why they are walking around in the first place? Would the crash leave us whiplashed? Topple the teetering walls we work so hard to arrange around our eroding assumptions? Could poetry do that? In a world where words mean next to nothing, perhaps poetry is only thing left that has the power to upend the tenuous cages of our solitude¿.in which case, Minding My Chaos is indispensable. Buy it, if you haven¿t. Steal it, if you can¿t.