all my life i've suffered from fantasy loves and anima attacks! maybe this is what drove me to poetry: the muse. alas, this ended with my last collection dedicated to the unobtainable lady, 'bagatelles.' one of my few ventures into prose poems, i had an ecstatic time writing them.
I met an old woman in the forest who asked me to carry her pack, puffing uphill like a grampus to her little cabin where spitting geese and her ugly daughter waited. How was I to know I'd hang out of a tree at midnight watching the daughter peel off her face and skin revealing the princess who'd been thrown out of the house for not saying she loved the king her father enough? In that moonlight I lost whatever innocence I had and I've been carrying the parcels of old women whenever I can, hoping they'll lead me to that same home.
you can read the progression of loss at www.pbase.com/wwp/bagatelles
more poems: www.pbase.com/wwp/poems