Poetry is a precarious thing, as it makes the journey from my mind to your phone screen, it passes through the world, and it’s never isolated from it, maybe you can see it with the lens you view these words with, art does not exist in a vacuum, it exists among history and words repeat themselves, it is the same with the human experience, at a base level so much is the same, black, white, yellow, we’re not so different, it shows in our DNA, but there are peculiar perspectives that people have earned from a certain way of living, and between these perspectives is where art exists, the always on-rhythm spirit of synchronicity, it senses the questions in your mind, and poetry tries its best to answer everything, in so many words, it can be so many things, it could be speaking directly to you, molding with your spirit, and touching your body, pepperoni nipples, what was that, nothing…

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