Of Visions n, Memories

I struggle to master the life of a poet, the world of rows of words, the monosyllabic titles spat from a poet’s tongue. My brain clenched in a haze in the short minutes before midnight, sore from laborious changes of several rewritings and rewritings, “the story of a poet’s life.” My inspirations! a snatch of melody from out of the night or private words accidently overheard, something I caught a glimpse of nearby or in the distance, and in those many words we borrow, a diagnosis of each with accents wrong, probably. Words siphoning through the ears, in a confusion of options, as if such gatherings were needed. This is my life of make-believe, a world of unconfirmed, uncontrolled direction, “this life of the poet.”