ON WRITING

True, in reclaiming the poetic word

we need to look no farther

than our own gaping maws.

The jaguar lost his spots in the darkness of sleep,

killer whales danced with the tuxedo of death,

and penguins, first cousins to nuns

and the stripes of the zebra,

imprisoned in the crosswalks of disorderly conduct.

Beneath my pen, small dark blossoms

begin to bloom on the blank page.

1/20/94

NAMES OF POETRY MAGAZINES

I NEVER GOT AROUND TO:

IN: VOICE

RE: VISION

PARA; GRAPH

META:  4

NO THINKING ALOUD