I have a pal named Jackson. Jackson is a poet. One rainy day in Lynchburg, a few of us huddled over coffee, writing impromptu poetry and talking shop. He took an idea, and pushed the bounds of it beyond word choice, to lines connecting pages, words scribbled on margins, little pictures, all in neon orange. I looked up in wonder from my English-garden uptight scrawl, changed.
The Free Verse of Project Management
The Free Verse of Project Management
The Free Verse of Project Management
I have a pal named Jackson. Jackson is a poet. One rainy day in Lynchburg, a few of us huddled over coffee, writing impromptu poetry and talking shop. He took an idea, and pushed the bounds of it beyond word choice, to lines connecting pages, words scribbled on margins, little pictures, all in neon orange. I looked up in wonder from my English-garden uptight scrawl, changed.