Some poems are things you just need to let play out on their own. I feel as though I’ve got lines simmering beneath the surface without me really having to think about them, and something just needs to come along to pull the layers off and let it rise of its own accord.
In this case, I read a random YouTube comment and this just sort of happened. It’s the bastard child of an offhand comment about death and some Bowerbirds and Bon Iver, and I feel like there’s more there if I just keep writing, even if I’m not sure where I’m going with this.
The next line that comes to me is “old folk songs scare / me to death because I’m / not there”. Let’s see where this leads.