Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Birthday poem

How to become a poet:
Take cold baths with bars of soap,
Gaze into mirrors until you make yourself cry,
Watch yourself cry.
Hang white laundry from your balcony so it flutters in the wind
January through April, post letters to whomever--
Develop an affinity for prescient foods:
Ice cream
Milk
Mushrooms
Snow
Keep your feet cold.
Dream of floods and ribbons
And when it comes to your twenty-first birthday
Do not look back
Do not look ahead
And most importantly of all,
Do not, do not, do not look around you at this perfect taboo moment,
Else risk losing it all: no birds lingering in your baptismal fountain--
And your clumsy hands holding naught but bathwater.

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