Poetry #89

It starts, damnit, it starts

             A beginning titillates across a crimson leaf,

The first three lines unroll

             As a bitch howls across a 3 a.m. alley.

A lecture on ethics

             Releases a pent-up quatrain

But they’re not the same poems!

             Where’s my gleaning pen?

I knew it, shit, once you give in…

Everything grows slowly more prophetic

What effect does Mr. Coffee have upon the world?

It’s more than I can take, this salvaging,

             These remnants of where another eye opened

Wallow in my bureau drawer

             Their vision in stasis until months later

Heaped over with other titles

             And the occasional new birth.