Like aspiring surgeons invading the mysteries of corpses

before being allowed to practice their art upon the living


we dissected the muscular strands of Hemingway Joyce

Twain Faulkner even Poe laying them down on the page


like multi-forked pigeon tracks at first a hostile aggravation

dissolving finally into a budding understanding of how this


thing called language worked or might work how it could be

twisted and turned on itself could be given reign to run free


for pages on end like some berserk wallaby or just lay there

exposed bare-boned unadorned unassuming and candid


all distinct yet like-minded styles of writing clearly hitched

to a telltale structure that in the end if judiciously observed


if adhered to without too much Faustian dissent receptive

to the intersecting physics of language thought and logic


all the rewards and treasons in the life of that lowly cliched

everyman might unlock – the joys the horrors the unbreakable


wit as well as the roots that fed his most stubborn tragedies

the unflinching discontents that fueled his hell-bent persistence


all noble goals lost upon us at the time we being no more than

children set to an odious task but sow the seed and one or two 


might rise beyond the frustration embrace the scrutable divine

maybe even one day pen a poem in thanks to one who tried.

What are you looking for?