The Enemy
Writing prose,
Composing a poem,
Any art, really…
Takes all of the
Acumen,
Attention,
Focus.
One needs only:
A quiet place,
A subject
And
Will.
Protect against
Din, distraction, disturbance.
Engage the senses
With a singular pursuit
Of the fox.
Yes,
then let fly
the dogs of war!
Muir had his mountains.
Emily, her desk.
Thoreau built a cabin by a lake.
Alcott, the orchard.
We, (and I mean I),
May find a seashore
Or a room
But the real quieting
Of the mind
Comes when we we kill
The little bird,
Punch our friends in the face
And just:
Shut
Off the
Signal.