How Poems are WrittenA poem, any good one, writes itself.
The first line shows up, fresh and strange,
The burst of something, water, maybe,
Tapped to rise out of a substrate, tapped
Before, but not exhausted. Flood of words,
The poem fertilizes arid lives. It tumbles
Forth a while. Then, it ends, and, afterward,
The lands it touched again are parched.
The mind which drilled itself goes dry.
It gazes at an unmarked screen, and waits
Until another poem comes to write itself.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2021-09-16 at 00:56
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