Someone's Got Your Number, Dummy

Right

There where
Your noodle smarts,

Pinhead.

Stonewalled: The Poet As Culprit

--for Joe Hutchison, master sleuth

For years, I’d been trying
To trace the poem’s origins

And had come up against a blank
Wall every time: Where

Had I seen it before?

.

It must have been somewhere
In the recesses of what passes

Plausibly as my mind but the more
I looked, the less I saw

Until I saw nothing and then
I saw there was no need

Of any further investigation—
I had stolen the poem

From myself.

Window on a World

The linked title above will take you down a narrow, cobblestone street where you will witness an old woman looking down at the poet as he passes below her window. This is familiar territory for some of you, as the photograph of the old woman and the poem were the subjects of previous blog posts; however, you will now have the chance to follow the poet as he reconstructs how the poem was written.

Artful Dodger

Nothing artful left—
Not even a trace,

An honest evocation.

Morning Moon over Mt. Ithome

This photograph is for Joe Hutchison and William Michaelian for their generous comments on my previous post, and for all those other friends and unknown people who drop by my blog: May your days always begin likewise.