…Like a Patient Etherized Upon a Table

I know I have tagged this a few times in my blogs, but it’s pretty wonderful so I thought I would reblog it as well 🙂

Liz Writes Stuff

Let’s get something straight. I write fiction. Fiction is what I do. Novels, short stories, flash fiction, non-fiction (it made me crazy, but I did it). But every now and then, when the moon is at its apex in the eastern sky and the crickets are singing and there’s beer in my belly and the radio’s up . . . I like to pretend I can write poetry.

It’s funny, because I had poetry published over the summer, but I have yet to place any short prose (and my novel, though the first draft is sooooo close to being finished, is nowhere near ready to take agent-shopping). Most of my poetry seems (to me) like complete drivel, but every once in a while, something comes out that I can’t ignore, and it sticks with me for days or weeks. The poem “Swallowing sounds like boiling water” was…

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