From Whom It Comes...

From Whom It Comes
by Ken Volonte

One good thing about staying up all night,
Was feeling the sun on my face through the window,
There at my desk where I wrote in the dark.

No all nighters for me,
Cramming down Faulkner or Murleau-ponti;
Kept awake with esketrall,
Given by my cousin willingly.
I tried it once or twice enough to know,
That if I didn't know it then,
I wouldn't learn it till I didn't have to.

But writing a poem with the sun in my face,
I felt that I could trust myself,
To trust the world and risk it all.
I felt like I could do anything,
And so I did.

Photo: flickr

Next: Separation from the herd and Joni Mitchell's Blue.