it is easy to formulate
(after having lived life long enough)
that days in life are really
just one grand day

& that on this grand day
one experiences infanthood,
toddlerhood, adolescence &
middle-age

& if one writes, one
begins to notice that poems
tend to repeat themselves -
reworks from the same grand day

which is interesting,
to see a seemingly new insight
transmogrify into a rework of an earlier one
but with more maturity,
confidence, or brooding

it's no wonder whitman
reworked the 'leaves of grass'
throughout his life, as
most poets do with their work

when one has the rest of a night's sleep,
one can achieve great things
"tomorrow"

i speculate that one's
body of poetry is
a memoir of life,
with a signature intensity
& inner voice
made manifest in degrees

i wonder if all
poetry asks Why?
in the overly-sentimental voice:
auto-writing in an
existential mode of
communication

where words on the page
become a semiotic mirror,
somehow, where one
stares into the gauzy gossamer
of self

and sees bit-information of
one's mind, the architectural
sketches of one's thoughts?

writing really makes one
realize the boundaries
& limits of thought,
& of language, as tools
of expression -

i can write chinese fortune
cookie aphorisms all day,
but they go nowhere
without integration power
based on education & experience

one has to thread the strings,
somehow

and the fabric that results becomes
the clothes of your identity,
the language of your personhood

and who are the great
designers of meaning,
using language as their medium?

that is: who are the greatest
poets, & why?