Out in the World

.

.

Telling
is the world’s
work: you are told to be
what the world wants: even what you want
is what you are told you
want: you can’t
escape.

.

.

.

A
silence
fell upon
the group as I walked past
with my dogs: I could feel the tension
in the air: those people
with giant
campers
there.

On Writing Poems

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.

.

I want
to make each
line a line poetic,
so you may hold them in your hand,
so they may stand alone,
each round word
a stone.

.

.

.

I think
poetry
when I walk with the dogs,
repeating the lines that seem telling:
remembering in this way, I send a message
to my deeper self where the lines go
fishing in the dark flows
that exist
wihin.