A Response to Billy Collins’ “Advice to Writers”
Ants found their way to my home
without my cleaning a thing. All remains
untouched within and without. Scrub? Never.
I let the crumbs fall where they may
and if the little bugger pests
come in for a bite, they can pull up a chair
and stay a while. The superfluous
surfaces in my world provide
endless fodder for ants and poems.
Also, I write in ink. No #2
pencils, allowing a word to be erased
as if it never existed. I scratch through
unwanted words, allowing them life
on loose leaf sheets
strewn amid a landscape of yesterday’s cast offs.
The accidents and discarded remnants
are safe here. Imperfection
needs more recognition.