Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Poets on Poetry: Duane Ackerson   Early Warning: Another Poem On the Way The paper waits: perhaps it has something to say but I'm not sure I do.   The pen complains: get to the point, and I try to sharpen my wits (perhaps this would have gone better with a pencil?), gripping that tool for dear life.   The sheet. The pencil. The instrument of their torture or deliverance: we're all here, and the muse has been served with a summons.   The world, of course, is holding its breath.   The Writer When I reached the gate to this life they handed me my bag of words.   When it's empty, they said, you get the sack.   “Nobody Reads Poetry” But, in spite of it all, poetry still reads the world.   Next Poem
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