It makes me happy
when I can right a poem.
Making marks on paper.
Symbolizing
words and phrases.
(the ink dries slowly)
Sometimes quickly.
Bursting forth
from a fire hose.
Frozen.
In time and place.
Brought to paper
for the first time
ever.

The marks come from my pen.
Flowing smoothly.
Broken thoughts.
Fragments from another place.
Separated
by lines.
Loosely followed conventions.
Rules
thrown to the wind.
I follow my own,
making my own.
For the first time
ever.
(the ink dries slowly)

nov 1997