You have stumbled upon a collection of poems or prose poems, a compilation of real or imaginary conversations, a bunch of digressive monologues of the mind. All that and more. Composed during the Age of Coronavirus pandemic, these released-from-quarantine offerings mimic how we talk, to others and ourselves. Snippets, shifts, interruptions, fractures, fragments, meanderings. Rarely do we speak in perfectly parsed sentences. Read in any order, in whole or in part. Or recite aloud. Translate backwards into Sanskrit, if you ...
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You have stumbled upon a collection of poems or prose poems, a compilation of real or imaginary conversations, a bunch of digressive monologues of the mind. All that and more. Composed during the Age of Coronavirus pandemic, these released-from-quarantine offerings mimic how we talk, to others and ourselves. Snippets, shifts, interruptions, fractures, fragments, meanderings. Rarely do we speak in perfectly parsed sentences. Read in any order, in whole or in part. Or recite aloud. Translate backwards into Sanskrit, if you prefer. Incidentally, within the text you are invited to conjure up your own invented monologues or conversations. We can keep them between ourselves. But you'll feel much better getting them off your chest.
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