What I Learned of Poetry
from Joe Johnson
"...sounds arose
from under our sheets
like strange dogs
baying in the night..."
Joe Johnson speaking about farts
and Kerouac simultaneously.
To approach a cat
who appears to be sleeping,
one pays strict attention
to the movement of the ears.
One watches the rhythm;
the even heave of the tiger's
iron ribs. While inhaling
his breath, do not dwell
on the odor of tuna, iron
and dead poets nor should
you ignore these things.
Suck down his purring breath
deep into your lungs.
Gently moving away
close down your lips
and block up your nostrils.
Then creep to an alphabet
and release those lines,
but please, don't get cocky,
he may wake, the next time.