to the poets in my life

[orig. written 12.9.09]

listening to you

makes words fall off of me again--

words pushed back inside and sedimented by so-called "focusing",

my own expression ruled into a perfect target practice

of double-spaced pages and trite music theory assignments;

my to-do list shoving the art out of me like walmart pushes small businesses out of town,

making a desert where words used to run

l i k e w a t e r,

now too often crippled, choking and handicapped

as i deafen my ears to word,

against the deafening noise of world.

But under rust and dust being scraped off

by your razor sharp poetry,

i want to write again.

my mind becomes a magnet for metaphors,

a factory of phrases;

my thoughts diversify

and versify,

and i find something peaceful and freeing

in this poetic procrastination.