I am waiting for my Sunday morning papers to arrive so to pass the
time I will post another 1996 poem from 'Wounds'.
Egotism
When I write I am all the poets in history.
We have to suffer, be in love with love,
So that when we have words in us we can write it down.
Why do you write? Because it is what I do,
I come from silence and I go to silence. A Dichter.
The poem hasn't started yet but it will always be about myself,
Nothing exists that I don't know about.
A flash in the pan that has lasted thirty years,
The lines jumping into my head.
Always in the background the grand old house and the brilliant eyes,
I base my world on reality.
We need greatness, not a penny-pinch less,
We little people that populate the Earth.
My books of poems are for the delight and study of archangels.
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