Maybe
we could form a little group…
all write Bios of each other…
What
I mean, really, is a movement here
on far east end, not vague abstracts…
All
write in gourd-shaped stanzas… Nicki
knows a butcher’s son who paints…
May
pay for publication and what the heck,
defeat boredom on long winter days…
Worth
the gamble for poets who languish
by the deserted sand-drifted shore.