The Poet Sits Down To Write

Am I forgetting anything?

I mean, all poetry is just

one poem....all music just

one song. All art is just one

big shared heart.

That's not sentimental;

it's hard fact...unless you

say:

"Guernica by" Picasso

"Lord Of The Flies"

"Catch-22"

"Howl"

and on and on

ad infinitum

are sentimental.

That's why, right now,

is there anything left to say?

We could talk infinitely at 

a table over whatever 

deliciousness, or, leather

chairs in the library,

long past when we died,

about ever arising topics

we hadn't thought about

because no one has thought

about everything, even Albert

Einstein who still believed in 

God, so, he must have missed

something...

What's left worth talking about?

What colors, images left to see?

That's why I like to listen to certain

music over and over....

revisit Dali.

Certain perceptions stir certain 

emotions...the way the Blues

works, for example.

Nothing new under the sun...

a latah in Phoenicia invented rap...

an old man wrote a protest song

in the Ming Dynasty...

...the same songs play on Mexican

radio as adults sang in their youth.

To summarize:

The same words never come out

again. Even the same song heard

anew is new....is now.