On Writing Poetry

I lie awake (sweat in my eyes)
waiting for images.
I sit in coffee shops
(though I cannot stomach coffee's bitterness);
at breakfast tables,
thinking between crossword clues.

I search for wisdom, inspiration:
Sandburg, Hughes, Bishop, Pound, Williams
and Whitman! (Oh, leaves of grass I walk upon,
looking under each step!)

Bending the pages of these poems,
I try to absorb their passions,
words.
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.