letters on paper

i look for poetry to place here tonight, but nothing jumps from the pages. i turn them slowly, quickly, slowly. i want to find words, but nothing calls out. how is it that they jump so readily sometimes, and lie dormant others? sometimes, poetry means nothing to me. nothing. only a collection of letters on paper. i could look all night and see no meaning. i don't like to admit that, but it's true.

or perhaps my vision is blurred by new bicycles. days of sandals, walking around san francisco with andrea. sitting on a porch with matt talking about how far two hundred miles really is. spring. yes, spring.

Posted by jeff pitcher at March 10, 2004 10:05 PM

....................................