delusions of grandeur and the like delivered by an insignificant thin man
posted by Skinnybeard @ 10:47 PM
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Jay Sizemore has never lived by the sea. He has never sat in the dusty corner of an attic with an old Underwood typewriter and the ghosts of his grandfathers whispering in his ears. Still, he is a writer of poetry. He doesn’t claim to understand the world, but sometimes does see glimpses of its true self behind the mask of indifference. It’s these little glimpses that make him pursue poetry, to try and master an art form that is always elusive, yet always beautiful, which is probably why there are so many poets to begin with.
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