The Heart Beat: Alan Sullivan, in Paraphrase
by Wendy Videlock
Dear poets,
If it ain’t got that inner thing,
if it turns its back on the hoof
and the wing,
if the thing reeks
of someone else, if the line is glued
and the blood won't move
and the verbs plucked
from a deck stacked with what you haven’t
drunken or thirsted for,
don’t blame me, save your teeth;
I can breathe
some words into a heady stew
or realign
a wheel as the mechanics do
but the dark spark
and the clear bead
at the center of all reflecting pools
is tireless, and tirelessly
up to you.
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