As I slipped into sleep, I wrote
a poem in my head with an expensive
fountain pen on silk.
When I awoke
I discovered it had been a dream,
the writing done with a leaky
inconsistent ballpoint on toilet
tissue, and I was left to reconstruct
what I could, a project
too often abandoned.
Inky Interview Special: Poet (& Noise Maker) Robert Beveridge, from Akron, Ohio