INT

I write with my blood and this is the book that almost never was...Don't misinterpret this as the poetry of 14 lovesick years...This is an open letter negotiating the death-row pardon of poetic theory...There is an endless night where our dreams will fade away unless we hold literacy close to our hearts...Parts of the rough draft of this dissonance manifesto were written on the blank sides of the many rejection letters I've received over the years...I need art... I need night sky abstract with constellations...I want to connect the dots of stars that have no editor...I want living dream...It's the ocean that matters...I'm just the book of a lonely buoy... All criticism does is seek to blemish what is beautiful...Like a grandfather clock that was too tall for the shelf and that stood all its years on the floor...there is a polished stone in the center of my chest and its rhapsody will continue until the day I die...when it will stop short...never to go again...Until that hour...I give you...INT