Siete: Life as a Pirating Waitress.

I am a conundrum. My heart is my wisdom for it beats ConUnDrum. My mind's eye is a c of RUNning water which often turns to MUD ON a dime. My vocal Chords Often Never Undo themselves unless there is a Needless Drive Revving to UnderMine them. My body is most relatable to that of a nun where the rum has con un used. My soul is in pieces and day by day bereaves its missing halves.

It is nearly eleven o'clock in the morning. I feel sheepishly inclined to face the day wrapped up like a taco in my pseudo-fortitude of sheets. If I relish I win, if I relinquish I lose. Soon enough I'll have to unravel myself and face the day like any other human being with a purpose; but until then I relish. I type from a cavern of feathers, and try to ignore the sunshine tapping on my windowpane. I've been passing the time with a great new book called, "How to Read a Poem" by Edward Hirsch. I recommend it to everyone with a soul, (and I guess those without one as well). I never took the plunge into the poetry pool until my professor last semester offered it up to us like a hot morning doughnut. I was hesitant at first, and then ran with it. This book has cleared up so much confusion for me and opened up an opportunity for change. Poetry is like God. It is there for us to learn from, form a relationship with, and stand in awe of. Unfortunately, belief in both has become highly endangered in our society. Hirsch writes, "I don't think we should underestimate the capacity for tenderness that poetry opens within us." He criticizes Cicero for his negligence and counterproductive attitude towards the art of writing. Logic and reason is worth living by, but without the application of imagination our hearts would shrivel up and beat with the sucking sound of an old ciruela.