I Write Poems

I write poems in my sleep, I write poems when I’m making love, I write poems when I’m frightened, in pain; I write poems inspired by what my students say, I write poems about films, paintings, and sculpture, I write poems when eat, when I ask forgiveness, when a loved one dies. I write poems when I’ve lost my way, and when I’ve found it again. I write poems about friends, family, the geese flying in the fog of morning. I write poems with a pen, pencil, my laptop. I write poems about places I’ve visited, and places I have never been. I write poems that are only three lines long, or thirty. I write poems about priests, and confession, and poems about absolution. I write poems when the night is suddenly morning, and in subways, and classrooms, and dark rooms of memory. I write poems about flowers, and the politics of dating, and the surcease of a hangover. I write poems in my head before they get to paper; at the hospital, at the wake, at the beach, at the last stop on the train. What the hell do you mean, you have writer’s block?

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