I was walking through the usual day

thinking about all the poetry I could be writing

thinking very beautiful thoughts

thoughts full of knowing sighs

that all my favorite poetry

& usually mine is about

poems you may not understand

the first time you encounter them

or the fifth But isn’t life rather

like that? I still recall the first & last

time I opened a book on calculus

the history of an alien civilization

had dropped onto my lap

I scanned I recognized nothing

& I closed the book thinking

maybe this is how skyscrapers are built

maybe this put men on the moon

but what has that to do with me

& my walks & my beautiful thoughts

which no one understands?

& I sighed as I often do & walked

into the usual day looking for the next poem.


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