I am Mike Mulligan-like for today
I wrote
more poems today [than I’ve writ] in a week or ten or twenty
There’s
only one way that that could be true
Is if
you had Mike Mulliganed the poems you grew
* * *
It’s as if I’ve
channeled Handel and the Hobbit,
Joan of Norwich
and Tom Thumb
And Ann Weems
now, all in one
And yet these
poems are all spraygunned
And I’m
speaking all the poems he grew
When I was
coming undone
What if it
hadn’t snowed and we had gone to Steven’s Point? [for Claire’s concert on 12/2]
Would no poems
have flowed?
Would there be
no anoint?
