The present. Why can’t we pretend
Here at the altar of loneliness.
So, I prefer form. Poetry within certain parameters, which offers a certain obvious challenge.
I responded, “Yeah, but there’s an end to it. You don’t have to go beyond the canvas. You know where it begins and ends. Unlike a Coltrane song, which you never know how long it’s going to go on, or when it will return to the theme. There’s an uncertainty there that leaves you uncomfortable.”
Well, to be fair, I would admit to some share of shrieking and bleating in Coltrane and Coleman that aren't for everyone . . . not that there's anything wrong with that.
PPS: Haiku Monday at Chez Fleur. The theme is memory.