The funny thing? I actually do this.

They say
one is influenced
by the things one reads.
In that case
my words are spirals
of electrons, crashing
into reality at
right angles--
and you, you
are the coil of wire
around my heart
inducing current
with your shifting
magnetic moods.
I write letters
in the margins
of my textbook:
Dear Self,
Please stop writing love poetry
to Einstein, Shroedinger, and Heisenberg.
Newton and Galileo feel slighted,
as forgotten first loves often do.
Next week, we will read Shakespeare;
then, you can write a sonnet for
some Dark Lord or Lady who might
actually deign to respond.

(3/10/06)