In the 1970s I was a much-published young poet. But I have since gone into hiding.
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Let a thing be what we say it is,
if a donkey is eating corn
let the donkey not be an allegory
nor the corn a corn byproduct.
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i hear the chime of the poem's voice
and in the notes you write
a guy who hungers for truth and tells it too
who understands that pain is the face
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1. Stop talking and listen. Listen to yourself listening. Then listen to that.
2. Pile all your hats in the back yard and burn them. Especially any with feathers.
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You are the winking stream,
We are all hiccup and failure.
You are love, a perfect dream.
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