The Scent of Poetry
You would think that the scent of poetry would inspire a flowery, feminine, or delicate set of adjectives and imagery; but no. To me, poetry is musky. It is earthy, wild, and raw. Its allure lies in the unmistakable sweetness communicated through a how vulnerable a poet is willing to be.
The line to Nuyorican was impressive. As I waited, a (homeless?) man stood outside the bounds of the line, dancing to the music he heard emanating from the venue. This is what music does, I thought. It brings us all together. He was smiling, eyes shut and feet shuffling; moving in a way he felt inspired to move. His shoulders and his feet all swayed with joy. I couldn't help but discreetly sway to the beat with him, this unnamed stranger whom I would never see again.