This cheesecake city*

Poets, contrary to popular belief are not known for their style and tonight was no exception. Sometimes a night at the open mic is like a night at an open sore but not tonight, not all of it. I do object to the ones who perform in wavering structures of artificial rhythm, I do object to the political without a trace of the personal but never could I object to the words that float like a miracle salt breeze blown all the way through my front door. My island home.


* A line from a poem by Matt More.