The Candid Verse
Not the song. Not the band. Just a quiet echo from a poem that got there first.
A little while back,
I penned a poem called
A Candid Verse.
Not yet a brand. Not a banner.
Just a phrase —
viscera, unvarnished,
meant to preserve something
that poems sometimes do
when nothing else can.
Years pass.
A band appears.
They released an album
called Candid Verse.
The phrase drifts,
floats on search engines,
through word of mouth
and fingertips.
You come looking for them…
And instead you find Skendong.
Landing in poems:
Morning Rituals in a Broken World,
The Barbarians Have Arrived.
Clunky Narratives
skimming off the search bleed
just enough
to make the old tag bloom.
An accidental doorway
into poetry and prose —
not dressed for performance,
but clunky, where you indulge
in a level of extreme silence.
Thank you for coming.
Looking for the band
you didn’t get lost.
Just stepped into a different verse:
Still candid.
Still unfiltered.
Still alive.
