The problem with writing poetry on a computer is that, unlike a typewriter, there is no pull out time to stop the flow (like when you had to put a new sheet of paper in or use the erase tape). The computer will allow any train wreck, even those that can be stopped by the pause.  The pause of feeling from the sliding in of the new sheet of paper and, turning the wheel to pull it up so it may be typed on, allowing you to evaluate before you unpause and continue for 80 some lines (that afterward you cut 50% of 50% out of  —- leaving barely a skeleton). When we continue the thought must be held in our head while waiting for another sheet of paper; one that will be marked and mulled when we stop typing and again revise. To stop the train wreck we embrace in word processing I just take a deep breath (like I just did) and let the train slow down, let the running water of words hold to a trickle for a second, to actually see the storm lashed bay we write about, some would say inform and control.  I don’t believe it; if you put a rose somewhere it is going to do what it is going to do, but you aren’t going to change the truth of it —- that is why we may seek out a rose, or a bug, or a doorstep to be the center of a universe you have been invited, and perhaps convinced, into to, even though you know its not real, suspension of belief I think is the screen writing term. The rose comes as easily as the mushroom, after rain, only the mushroom searches for kinship in a different way, not by stretching its head to the sun, but by communing with rock, a rock that has known flesh, that wishes only to be united with that which it struck, to stop the bleeding and be warm and be whole.  You get these things sometimes, when I need a larger audience, but I really just want to be silent for the most part, lost in the image and the prosody it creates….