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I guess writers do a lot of writing about writing. What the hey, most plumbers talk about laying pipe every chance they get.

How - To

I want to write a poem about flowers
but flowers don't write poems,
they'd rather stroke the sky with petals of velvet razor
that can cut a man more deeply than bone

I want to write a poem but the thoughts
that run from my mind into my hands
have cholesterolized
the pipelines of my soul

I want to throw my heart down onto the page
like a fresh caught rainbow trout
but my fingers paint streaks of molasses
my words muddify and sludge

I think that all the poems in the world are just
watermelon seeds spat onto reams of uninspired pulpwood
by a pink bellied three chinned
Irish pig-god named Ohara

I want to write a poem about a flower
but the roots wrap my penhand tight
the pollen stains cling to the page like memory burns
and the dirt in my soul makes poor manure.