For your information, when you eat things they go into you. I learned this last year. This year, however, I cannot write a poem. I just can’t do it. My dog skids around on the ice outside, I’m bleeding the radiator with fifty leeches, seismologists curl at the foot of my bed, episodes of F Troop are shot in my living room, guppies do tricks in the depths of my teacup, plus:
confusion is the basic unit of all living organisms. It has been dubbed the building block of life. A single confusion divides to produce two daughter confusions. Let’s pack a lunch, pile into the station wagon and sit in the driveway.
In closing, then: Blank sheets of paper scribble poems on me. A lamp throws a shadow into the wastebasket. The radiance of the night is just about endless.