I love 'burgles poets better lines / because I don't have their car
keys'
>----Original Message----
>From: [log in to unmask]
>Date:
02/12/2014 22:37
>To: <[log in to unmask]>
>Subj: Poem/really
snap, "Diane Lockward's Prompt"
>
>Diane is a very good
poet who offers period online prompts. I picked up
>on this one. Don't
know why.
>
>DIANE LOCKWARD'S PROMPT
>
>Describe, Diane says, something
you wholly love.
>It is an exercise and I cannot do it because
>there
is nothing anymore about which I care.
>
>No one loved. I am not
passionate, I am gall, heartburn.
>I am a thief who burgles better
poets' lines
>because I do not have their car keys.
>
>Perhaps you mean
my cat? Oh, I love him,
>he does not walk in beauty, but instead
>like
a conqueror, my crotch is his realm
>
>or he strides with firm prance
across my desk.
>Who am I to whine, no one at all,
>I can wince from
pain but still I'll feed him,
>
>how bad then can it be, and it is not,
>it is travels far less tangled than my own, where
>nothing ever
happened of excitement,
>
>even my '67 trip to Mexico, we got laid,
>we
got drunk, smoked dope, climbed a pyramid, none of it
>seemed to
happen, for it was all lost in a fog:
>
>tequila and pulque and pot,
and still I was too young
>to feel what I felt or see what I saw, too
dense
>to see how I was being misshaped for my future.
>
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