Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Four Poems by Glenn Ingersoll   I'm not doing this because I have an urge to, really. The poem's mewling and to shut it up I gotta give it suck, the pen's nipple plunged into the poem's soft mouth.   *   The poem thinks when it comes to an end -- that will be it! Death! Four lines, a fifth and then -- eternal oblivion!   *   The poem knows the man who stands in the middle of it. It goes over him, around him; when he breathes in the poem goes in and gets squeezed by his heart until it swirls in his fists and he opens his mouth and sings the poem out. And the poem knows its way and goes on without exactly ever leaving him.   *   If this were really a poem I wouldn't have to tell you.   Next Poem
		All materials on this site are © 2005. No materials may be copied, reposted, or reused without written consent of their creator(s).