The way I approach effective
poetry nowadays is to
sketch as it were many soft lines
that end up suggesting something

is wrong. The water beams across
the board, where swans stain the lakeside
wanderers by entering through
strong paths of light. Conversations

with me and the word processor
create problems. Is it not that
processes simply happen. Is
there nothing we can do to stop

the press, allow us to think more
gesturally, without failure
to account for form, for the sound
of ducks and children talking. To

be, or not worry about teeth
sunk into the skull where process
becomes actual too quickly
and then (god forbid) words exit

and already falsehoods have held
hands and are skipping around old
people, who seem to be running
from death like the black headed gull