November 22, 2007

Not Writing

                       The pen is the tongue of the mind.
                       ~ Miguel de Cervantes

I’m creative as a lamppost tonight,
the ignition switch
burned out.

Spotlight blown from a single branch
along this rutted, side-worn street.

I’m emptied of loquacious lovers,
of one old Italian monk;

a golden dog licks his leg,
makes his mark, smooth and easy.

Words, words everywhere –
and not one S placed right.

Where lurk the amorous vowels?

Swept along by elliptical ships, feasting
on amaranth pears?

Tonight, teach me
the timing of a tangent,

the cartography of a constellation.

No, no, not tonight dear.
Not there, not here.

—Susan Rich
first published in Quarterly West last year.

Posted by dwaber at November 22, 2007 02:53 PM