High rise

by Erica Bennett


I am Wo sans man

I am the Ater

I read Poe; try

My lips Tick

My bed Rocks

But I split Hairs


I’m writing a short play in verse using an non-rhyming 4/3/5/2 metered structure. Yet, last night, my play had no action; it was more a dialogue which was my original intention.

Most of my stuff has internal action; perhaps better suited for another medium? Anyway, I threw in a dagger and some ill-intent, the proverbial kitchen sink. The play is based upon a myth and I’m not far off the mark. In fact, it was actually a good note and relatively easy for me to address; a little polished steel waving around the Christ child should get the blood boiling this holiday season… That’s the hope, anyway. I want this experiment in language of mine to be born and born again.

My friend asked me who is looking out for my work, so when I die, it won’t end up in a dumpster with the rest of my personal belongings. That’s a good question. Are you archiving your stuff? You should.

4 thoughts on “High rise

  1. Morning, Robin! I would start by backing up all of your digital files on multiple devices and storing them in multiple locations like a fireproof safe and a safety deposit box. As for a guardian of my work, I am considering having my niece illustrate my poetry and self-publishing. Then she will have an investment in the property.

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