Thursday, May 5, 2011


Write without coffee. Wake at half-past-two.
Make couplets, since there's nothing else to do.


Adventure! Be my damsel, my delight,
And watch me scribble in the dead of night.


O southwest breezes, soft, scented of May --
Could you do more to beautify this day?


When old Ted Roethke wrote, he made words dance
And sing in every desperate circumstance.


Two hundred sixty pounds, robust with meat,
Ample with beer, I more than fill my seat.


He walks on air, as nimble as a sprite:
A heavy poet who can keep things light.

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