Life Is A Loaded Gun That Looks

I Stared Up At The Ebbing Quarter Moon And The Stars Scattered Like A Handful Of Salt Across The Faraway Sky.

The Poem Is Not, As Someone Put It, Deflective Of Entry. But The Real Question Is, 'what Happens To The Reader Once He Or She Gets Inside The Poem?' That's The Real Question For Me, Is Getting The Reader Into The Poem And Then Taking The Reader Somewhere, Because I Think Of Poetry As A Kind Of Form Of Travel Writing.

Poetry Is Like Standing On The Edge Of A Lake On A Moonlit Night And The Light Of The Moon Is Always Pointing Straight At You.

There Are Just Long Gaps Where I Can't Find A Point Of Insertion, I Can't Find A Good Opening Line, I Can't Find A Mood That I Want To Write Into. But Once I Do, Once A Line Falls Out Of The Air, Or I Get A Little Inkling Of A Subject And I Recognize That, It's Like The Sense That A Game Has Started.

And Strangely Enoughthe Only Emotion I Ever Feel, Is What The Beaver Must Feel, As He Bears Each Stick To His Hidden Construction, Which Creates The Tranquil Pond And Gives The Mallards Somewhere To Paddle, And The Pair Of Swans A Place To Conceal Their Young