The Reader and the Writer

The reader makes the writing what it wants

To be, alive.  Until that moment it

Is dead black ink.  That blackness only haunts

The pages.  Then the reader’s séance, wit

And trancing mind call writing from its grave.

The story or the poem lives again

Perhaps not quite what author’s mind might crave

Yet thriving nonetheless.  The reader’s stain

Cannot be purged.  The writer may not like

It, but it’s there.  The stanza or the book

Closed up is like an ironworks gone on strike

Or trout that’s waiting for the author’s hook.

  The book or rhyming is a shut up room

Bing Videos

    Or baby lacking midwife while in womb.