I Felt At Some Point That I

I Write With A Uni-ball Onyx Micropoint On Nine-by-seven Bound Notebooks Made By A Canadian Company Called Blueline. After I Do A Few Drafts, I Type Up The Poem On A Macintosh G3 And Then Send It Out The Door.

It Is As If One By One, The Memories You Used To Harbor Decided To Retire To The Southern Hemisphere Of The Brain.

But Tonight, The Lion Of Contentment Has Placed A Warm Heavy Paw On My Chest.

I Was Able To Read Poets That Were - Allowed Me To Be Humorous Without Being Silly.

Particularly When I Thought Of Myself As A Wallace Stevens Acolyte, I Wrote Very Difficult Poetry And I Was Really Guilty Of Not Knowing What I Was Talking About. I Was Going For A Kind Of Clever Verbal Effect. I Was Trying To Sound Linguistically Or Verbally Interesting. I Had A Sense, I Guess, From Just Reading A Lot Of Poetry Of How A Poem Would Start And How It Would End But Really I Didn't Know What I Was Doing. It Had Very Little Connection To My Life.