I rarely write poetry. Or attempt to write poetry. To me a lyric and poetry are somehow different and yet exactly the same but one is gifted a melody that I understand. The other is more mysterious and I love it but the work of it is probably more academic than my patience allows. This has been a long winter where I'm living. Cold and snowy and the feeling of pressing against a brick wall. There's much to report but nothing to say that hasn't been said. I guess I'm just leaning towards spring and a change in scene. This "poem" is called Magna Carta. It took me a year to write. Here's to rhythm and no rhyme and a meaningful cinema in the mundane...
the home for the music
of Matthew Ryan