I had an odd thought today
that poems are not meant to be my own point of view
but an expression, a proof, a mission, an attempt
to put my own language on an altar
and to prove the worth and beauty of my language
to the world.
This counteracts everything.
No expression, no story, no vibe, no juice.
My car doesn't matter, just the road.
Looking at the road out the window,
is one language more beautiful than any other
inherently
or is it the ideas expressed
which are lovely?
Image source: https://www.lonelyplanet.com/articles/california-hwy-395-road-trip
A road trip along California’s Hwy 395 from Lake Tahoe to Death Valley will take your breath away © Mark Read / Lonely Planet