Since there are some beautiful writers in the crowd
I thought I would read this, which I think of as sort
of an invocation for writers.
Bellow.
"Tell the range and all that's howling, the flickers of life
beyond the weeds, the vulture's furrowed brow of flight,
the blasted sticky Canadian lawn thistle;
tell the clowned-out clouds and the rain,
and all that makes you go quiet again, tell them
you didn't come here to make a fuss,
or break, or growl, or scream; tell them,
crazy sky and stars between, tell them
you didn't come to disturb the night air and throw a fit,
and then get down in the dark and do it."