Friday, August 6, 2010

On the nobility of writing poetry

How noble would it be
If I swallowed my pen?
            The bus moves so fast
Drawing me away
From last month’s
Improbable Eden

            Also I am hungry
And trying to mouth the words
That never made it out with me

A thousand impressions
Left on the porch
Where I left them
Along with a few ears of corn.

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