March Poems, No. 56

Photograph by Duane Locke


MARCH POEMS, NO. 56

This old poet
Does not like
To be alone,
But this old poet
Is alone.

What does
This old poet
Do when alone.
He listens
To the night.

He writes down
Every word
The night speaks.
Before sleep,
He tears it up.

During sleep
Some force
Picks up the pieces,
Paste together again
Inside his body.

Next morning,
The words leap
From his body
To appear on computer screen.
The old poet prints the words.


Duane Locke

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