I’ve been digging through some old poetry of mine and found a couple of pieces of constrained writing, including this poem below written using something called the prisoner’s constraint. Topically, it’s based on a true story in the same way LeCroix is based on fruit: it’s an earnest attempt at truth that doesn’t come anywhere close to passable or plausible, but does end up becoming enjoyable in its own right.
First, welcome to this place, regardless of how you found it. Depending on where you are reading these words they might be packaged as a blogroll, a toot, or some other feed-based mechanism designed to list the right words in the right order. If you can make any sense of what you’re reading, then I suppose you’ve found my blog. This place (of indefinite form, origin, or locale) is where I will be posting snippets of writing (both fiction and non), poetry, essays on art and culture, and any number of other mid-length pieces for people to read.