Wednesday, March 01, 2006

When a poem visits in the night

you have to get up and write it down. This from a few weeks ago. With revisions coming this morning. It will disappear soon.

. . . gone now . . .


Ivy said...


I love this poem's detail: "its cupful of blood".

Anne said...

That image of the heart wriggling like a fish is going to stick with me. I'm fascinated by the transplant process, maybe because my dad was just about to get onto the list for a liver transplant when he died (which I still think was his way of stating rather emphatically that he did not want to go through the hell of transplantation).

Kells said...


KF had told me about this poem, what a treat to see it here. V. powerful.

Oh and last night I had a dream you were in our MFA program and we thought our project would be to make height charts for ourselves and other poets. (huh?!) We were going to see if we grew taller after we wrote a poem. ;-)

too much sugar before bedtime.

Peter said...

Thanks I, A, K.

A: So sorry to hear about your dad. Hope it was peaceful for him.

Kelli: I am so honored you dreamed I was in your program. Who knows, maybe some day I'll do the MFA thing?

A. J. Patrick Liszkiewicz said...

Dear Everyone,

I got to seeeee-it... neener neener neee-ner...