on writing poetry

I lie awake (sweat in my eyes)
waiting for images to appear.
I sit in coffee shops (though I cannot stomach coffee's bitterness);
at breakfast tables each day,
thinking between the crossword clues.
I search for wisdom, inspiration:
Sandburg, Hughes, Bishop, Pound, Williams
and Whitman! (Oh, what leaves of grass I walk upon
looking under each step!)
Bending the pages of these poems,
I try to absorb their passions, words,
by showing what I have read.
I write about love,
always love!
I have been defacing American poetry.
Spitting in the eyes of greatness
and expecting inspiration!
I have crushed leaves of grass
instead of placing my ear on their tips
and listening to their songs.
It is time to read, write, read, write!
Sitting in my chair,
writing instead
of waiting.