I am not sure what I am saying
\nin poems, most of the time.
\nHalf the time.
\nOr why the insipidity of my speech
\nis better than grand phrases.
\nI am perhaps just a thing that talks.
\nA carousal of sound,
\nstored in winter, where
\nthe wind howls in the gears
\nand through the benches.
\nPeople look away then,
\nuntil mimicry whistles a tune,
\nand I am windblown on the paper.<\/p>\n
I like to listen to people
\ntalking among themselves.
\nTo be astonished by something beautiful
\nin something someone says,
\nand repeat it carefully.
\nTo give its plan wonderful expression,
\nthe sensitivity it deserves,
\nand then hear someone say,
\nyou have a way with words,
\nand I say to myself
\nI am surrounded by poets.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I am not sure what I am saying in poems, most of the time. Half the time. Or why the insipidity of my speech is…<\/p>\n