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.