One morning over coffee
four writers joined up to talk
of writing and its sway on
all under the bless-ed sun . . .
when they could have been writing.
Classic complications got
taken up and more or less
addressed and yet one was left
dangling, the edge of my mind . . .
when I could have been writing.
Words dwell in dictionaries
till worders order them to
come alive but where they go
to die, comes up while writing . . .
words die in poems unread.