Poem on Poetry (fragment from a larger work)

I. I am the poet, at work at an escritoire –

I would prefer a dark armchair, but must

finish this stanza before six o’clock.

I dream a little, a very little.

I have flooded myself with a profusion

of images and found, to my chagrin,

that I have begun to rust.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: