Oh, this poem(draft) needs a preface. And the preface shall begin with Zelda speaking in the third person about herself (remember that Seinfeld episode? ha ha ha! so funny!). The preface shall continue with this: Zelda writes poems about rage and despair. Zelda writes poems about pain and suffering. Zelda writes poems about searching for the bottom of her blackened blackened soul. Zelda does not write poems about romantic feelings. That deserves repeating: Zelda does not write poems about romantic feelings. Zelda happens to find them icky. And very very gross. But Zelda is trying to learn new things. And Zelda’s well of rage, suffering, and blackened blackened souls has run dry for the moment. We shall all hope that it is for this moment only.
And now, Dear Readers, I shall give you the entertainment for the evening. It is brought to you by Paula Abdul, and it is lovely entertainment — very dramatic, very fashionable. It is so splendidly worth watching, if only for the first fifteen seconds, which show Keanu Reeves lying down in the middle of the road and clapping with a clapping monkey that looks a tad like a clapping tiger, but I like clapping monkeys better, so I will say that it is a clapping monkey. Yes, yes. A clapping monkey.
at this point my body language is saying take me baby and my mind is saying how did I get here and how do I get out
at this point there would be beachwalking and me
[I have set you afire, rest-of-poem, and I have pushed you out to sea]
Posted by zeldafitzgerald 
And this is a morning when I most appreciate it: both the reason and the making of coffee. It is a gray morning, here, and a morning spent mostly in preparation for the evening, and the evening’s events, which will, sadly, take me far from the safety of my computer, meaning that, when I awoke, I awoke to the ugly fact that it was time for NaPoWriMo. Now. And now, uncoffee-ed and feeling rather like that fellow to the left there, I post the poem, early. This one, thankfully, at least does not contain the fancy formatting WordPress Will Not Allow, as the last poems have.
Posted by viviennehaighwood 