(letter to a former English teacher)
Sure. And you’ve got nothing better to do
than to read about poets in the madhouse
(whereas I’ll admit I’m quite delighted
that there are a good many situations I’d
prefer to be in) and it’s probably true people
are not the same. The same! Delete immediately.
I know all about your moments teaching
those young rascals how to think. To think!
Delete immediately. And it gives me hope
and broad pleasure (spread across my face)
to share a similar curious employment
searching for words & ideas that aren't there yet.
Sure. And how it's strange when poets
forget everything they know. The poets!
And I remember the sun on my fountain pen
when I daydreamed in class! Delete immediately.
Nothing else (I thought) than smart shapely women
or (failing that) the hundred poems to make the world crazy.