Poems Archived from Dr. J's Round Table II

Eating Poetry

Ink runs from the corner of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Here eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

--- Mark Strand (1968) from Reasons for Moving