tiny bubbles

i don't think i'm really committed to poetry. which is as much as to say, i just read a poem by someone named heather graham in pilot, and it was very very beautiful. what my poetry has going for it is diction, but it rarely goes anywhere.

that's the thing: i only have enough discipline to pursue one art form which requires the paring of everything down to a singularity--a beautiful and impenetrable thing, no matter how ugly or diffuse (i've been reading the new critics recently)--and it's singing. i might not be very good at singing, but...poetry's too strong for me to work on. if i have something in me, i'll write it down. or possibly take some ex-lax. it's a toss-up. singing i can work on, because no matter what else, it's worth it. poetry is some sort of sea in which i am rudderless--singing is a sea in which there's a half-naked wooden woman to follow, because she's on the front thingee and i'm in a ship. WHAT?

if the discipline of singing is transferrable, i can maybe write poems. at some point.