Eating Poetry - Mark Strand

Created by Mark Ashworth

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Eating Poetry
Mark Strand

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Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

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The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

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The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

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Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

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She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

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I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
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