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?