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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

VENUS, 2011, Rewrite

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2011, Rewrite

How are you to be a great poet,
When you've got no inspiration,
And you're tired, it's late, and
Night after night your mind runs blank?

How do you find yourself stuck,
Fixed in the old, worn-out malady, writer’s block?

Might you recall instead that glorious goddess,
Made into human form right before your eyes,
With whom you spent yesterday morning, talking,
On the grass, warmed all over, blessed by rays,
An eleven-o’clock summer sun?

And why not read aloud?
What harm is there in letting world to know?
No shame in the telling
That mind awakes, again, from midnights’ torpor.

She’s got it! Beauty, love, and
She’s fire, she’s my desire.

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