How does a poem begin?
With the writing of it. I don’t have a plan for the poem before I start. There may be a sense of an empty room, and the goal is to activate the space—see what happens when I spill words and images. Perhaps they hook or mirror or float or make no sense at all. Most often I write on my laptop which is light and portable, and increasingly I jot poem babies on my Notes app in-between errands, or right before I fall asleep. It’s like my ego has dislodged by that point and I’m finally just a gentle being of erratic expression. In the morning I retrieve those fragments. Here’s one: “Fall in love with someone who has allergy to scoville and farts.” I have yet to find a use for it.
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