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niriniaHe leaves his coat on the chair, the one to his left, where someone just left another coat. And approaches the stage, where someone just put the microphone back into its stand. He reaches out and touches the microphone, the one someone just proclaimed their drunken love of some bartender into. And he opens his mouth, the one the girl in the back would so much like to stick her tongue into.
"I know what the problem with amateur poetry is: they don't know what they're doing. They don't know how to create rhythm, how to write a sonnet; they don't know how to allude; they have no sense of the world, they have no experience; they don't even read poetry other than their own. And, worst of all, they write in English."
"I know what the problem with amateur poetry is: they don't know what they're doing. They don't know how to create rhythm, how to write a sonnet; they don't know how to allude; they have no sense of the world, they have no experience; they don't even read poetry other than their own. And, worst of all, they write in English."
