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©1990 chris abraham

What a wonderful song, what a wonderful poem, from Walt Whitman, heralding the Summertime.

Years and years ago I was asked if I was willing to have some of my poems published on a website in Russia. I was willing. They're now closed so I replicated them here.

I feel like this was a writing project I did in class at GWU

I visited Houston for a while in 1996. The Rothko Chapel is worth visiting Houston to see. It really can convince even the most resolute naysayer that there is something greater than ourself.

Being exposed to the profane done artfully and in a way that shows the humanness innate in blasphemy and heresy. This poem, by poet Sharon Olds, from her book Satan Says, was one of those experiences. That and The Pope's Penis, another of her poems.

Found poetry from a hyperfiction I created collaboratively with a bunch of friends back in 1998, called Collabor8, or 8: A Collaborative Hypernarrative Fiction

Maybe I have been hobbled by growing up Catholic or putting women on pedestals because of all-boys school. But I have never swiped left or right on Tinder. I am no choir boy. I have had more than my fair share. But going through lovers has never been the way I have ever passed my time. It's neither sport nor a source of story or content. I feel like Sharon Olds gets my feelings perfectly right.

To me, this is the most important poem ever written and shared with the world, more important to what it is to be an American than the Constitution, Bill of Rights, The Gettysburg Address, or even the Declaration of Independence. The I Have a Dream speech is this poem's brother.