Twisted and Baby Blue’s Apologia


Some don’t like poetry that’s hard, dense like a Roman wall.
Others had to learn ways through that wall, so here I am
needing strange poetry to explain how I taste sound.

My way of hearing the world was always derided
by people who trampled the music that fed me,
the soft leaves and singing of the woods
that wrapped around me when all was lost.

Noisier, hotter engines invade the waters
in inner ears now; but some don’t care.