Canto CLXXXII

I look back at the fragments of my day,
or into other half formed, half-arsed thoughts
in search of that first line to guide my way

into the poem, to sustain my art.
I may as well be that tribal shaman
who slays a goat and stares into its guts

for subtle missives from the gods to men.
Though the alternatives seem far more twee—
the zodiac, the tarot, the i-ching

or random accumulations of tea.
Billy’s tripe just seems a better match
for cynical and jaded trolls like me

when inspiration clip clops on my bridge.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Feb 29, 2012 @ 00:57:04

    I am totally in awe of somebody who can produce a poem a day. I’ve always assumed that your inspiration came instantly, like a Zen moment of enlightenment, out of something in your day.

    I’m not sure about Billy’s tripe…a cows stomach lining… yucky.

    Reply

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