The woodpecker is a He calling for a willing She. The call for poems is a mating call. Sometimes is not the right time at all.
> From: "Jeremy Gregg" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> > Date: Fri, 16 Apr 2004 15:19:42 -0500 > To: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> > Subject: [X] click click click > > What is the woodpecker searching for > as (s)he hops along the limb from trunk to tip, > up, click, up, click, up, click, then back again, > hopping along the bark for . . . for what? a home? > > I sat and smoked and wondered the same about me, > now hopping along the line from "n" to end: > click, up, click, up, click, up, and back again, > hopping along the keyboard for . . . for what? a poem? > > All this up and clicking, it is not an occupation; > more desperate than a hobby, more taxing than a prayer: > why now does (s)he fly from here and leave this tree, my sight? > why do I stay at my tree, long ago clicked down into a desk? > > The cars along the street drive past without a second glance; > the poem, like the cigarette, comes to an end without an answer. > > > _______________________________________________ > Five7Five mailing list > [EMAIL PROTECTED] > http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
