Modern Poetry
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8216;If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way? Friday, March 18, 2011. Outside, the rain, pinafore of gray water, dresses the town. And I stroke the leather belt,. As she sits in the rocking chair,. Holding a crushed paper cup to her lips. I yell at her, but she keeps rocking;. How heavy it feels to look at her.