letters from a young poet I

As of late, I’ve been returning to those initial poems. You know the ones, where you were slowly getting your footing, starting to notice that you had an affinity for language that was simultaneously troubling and thrilling. I do not know if this will become an ongoing series nor do I want to commit myself to it, but many of my earlier poems were of what I held close: family, religion, and the stars so dumb and present. As I work on this second collection, it feels necessary that I try to revise some of these earlier poems rather than let them sit and rot. They are thematically connected to my new work in voice and theme. Plus, it is fun to engage with Kaley who spent the majority of her undergrad binge drinking whilst somehow managing to excel in poetry. I think during my sophomore I was reading roughly 5-6 poetry books a week (thanks, Geoff).

Here is the first love child we will be working with:

A Big Bang Theory
last touched February 5, 2018

Mere son of man-notch in Orion’s belt,
you long to undo the stars with your teeth.
To constellate shapes that mirror their svelte,
first you must master how to lie beneath.
Saturn’s rings will not fit those slim fingers.
Milky way or the highway, who taught you
how to steer? Look! Our creator lingers,
hitchhiker on space’s shoulder, a cue.
Eyes in retrograde, you don’t pause at thumb,
drinking fuel from his palms. Oh child, sipping
comets through a straw can burn a tongue.
Riding rotations has left you dripping-
want another tumble in the backseat?
Here’s another chance to think off your feet.

To point to the genesis of this poem would have me gesturing and posturing; in truth, I have no clue where this poem came from. I can recall that I spent a lot of time that spring semester beneath a sweet gum tree with all my friends, in earnest recline and watching the varying tones of sky and person. And too, I had my bench, where I was reading poets like Osip Mandelstam, Tomaz Salamun, and James Tate- those early predecessors who would instill a deep interest in what is irreverent, erotic, and surreal. I may have been writing to a man. This is common in my practice; I need a general you upon which I can fling emotions that even I can’t comprehend. Those who have succumbed to my whims are metaphorical crushes, God, and the ghost of my dad. This is a bit of a nightmare rotation, if you catch my drift. I can’t be public about most of my habit.

What I notice about this poem is its tightness. When I first began writing, I was drawn to dense, even lines that formed a solid brick. One might say I began as a prose poet, then became more intrigued by the juxtaposition of noise and silence. If we want to bring psychology into it, there’s clearly a hesitance to take up space as well. This ‘so-called ‘hesitance greatly impacted the image and rhythm. The constraints I placed upon myself too deflated the leaps; I did not believe enough in the power of sonic play to propel me from line to line. There’s hardly any of my signature assonance (vowel-rhyming) in this piece. So, in this first revision, let us try to tackle the aurality and make this piece sing.

Another Big Bang Theory
last touched April 11, 2026

Merest fledgling of man, notch-deviant 

in the belt of Orion–why are you trying always

to unlace the stars with your teeth? If you

long to learn their svelte, why not first master

lying beneath? The rings of saturn won’t

fit those slim knuckles just yet, and when given

the wheel you crash the entire orchestra-

tion! Might it help if we picked up a hitchhiker?

Your creator lingers on space’s shoulder

giving cues only known to you. The tongue is

a spade when the eyes are in retrograde;

don’t just pause at thumb, you must get the job

done! Next, you will be gifted a comet

to sip through a straw, next any fuel you need

shall come from my palm. Fear not those

burns which may ripple you breathless, which

may teach you dripping. Come, follow me

into the backseat; we’ll try thinking off your feet.

Alright, this draft definitely feels more Kale. The lines move much more quickly thanks to the assonance and slant rhymes. Still, the language could be tighter to create more tension. As of late, I’ve been adopting antiquated forms of address primarily for how they increase the pacing in a poem and create such lush combinations with the words around them. The mixing of registers too creates a delicious space where a reader oscillates between ‘high’ and ‘low spaces which works well for the context of this poem. I mean, essentially the speaker is telling the ‘you’ that in order to be a top (cosmic body) you must first learn how to be a bottom (terrestrial body). Still, this draft does not feel like its final form, so we are going to take one more shot at it below.

Another Big Bang Theory
last touched April 13, 2026

Fledgling meek, notch-deviant, last hole 

in the belt of Orion–why must your only aim be

to unlace stars with your teeth? Should you

long learn their svelte, why not first grasp lying

beneath? Saturn’s rings are too big for thine

knuckles slim; when given the wheel you crash

the entire orchestration, Find your footing

in strangers, a hitchhiker—there! Your creator

lingers on space’s shoulder, giving cues only

known to you. Is the tongue not a spade when

your eyes are in retrograde? Do not give up

at thumb, do not think lust is a job to be done!

It is a gift, like the sip of a wayfaring comet

through a Big Gulp straw; it is knowing a fuel

can made from the sheen of a palm. Fear

not those burns which may ripple you breath-

less, fear not the inevitable dripping! Come,

follow me into the backseat. Since you’ve found

a partner, let us try thinking off of these feet.

The best thing about writing is poems is that they are never truly done. I believe most poets will tell you this. When I am submitting to literary magazines or even reading ‘finished’ pieces aloud to an audience, I’ll make minor tweaks or changes. I believe I’ve found a good rest stop for this one (get it, cause there’s like, car imagery). But with this series, I am open to alternative ideas and suggestions from friends or wayfaring readers. Poetry is not just an isolated incident but a collaborative experiment. It is strange when I encounter individuals who do not want to write a poem together; could you imagine? The tension would be brilliant! But if you prefer an impulse that is solely masturbatory, then kudos to you. I imagine if this poem ever gets picked up somewhere, I will have to temporarily remove it from the post. But do not fret, links exist! Between us and the webpages.

Xoxo,

Kale