Writing poetry is frustrating sometimes. It's hard to calculate what will make a good poem. For every poem that actually materializes, good or otherwise, there are a million other ideas which just might be something. Today I can't write anything. But if I could, I would write about:
1. The garden of headless saints which I passed in the canyon on my run today. Yup. Little ceramic saints, all of whom have been decapitated.
2. The look on President Obama's face the very second after he equated his bowling skills to that of a Special Olympian.
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