July 23, 2008

The Fling

Instead of handing a poem to my parents, I hand
an excuse. Instead of making poems, I make headway.
Any visit I make I examine for poems
minutely, as for lice. Also any list. In laying
out my armor, breastplate and creases for next
morning, I'm layering and compressing
poems for later, the most possible, folded
or caught anywhere -- "What's great
about poetry is it doesn't have to stop
there," my student said, I'm stealing it,
flocks of poems gather and yap over the roofs. Let's
say everyone you wanted to sleep with would have you
and it's up to you to conduct yourself
ecstatically, fairly -- you'd prepare to say what you want.

—Kate Schapira

Posted by dwaber at July 23, 2008 03:59 PM