A poem offered by Diane Gage for this gathering:

Fear Is The Shadow Of Desire
You would do well to keep a fluid sense of orientation
but of course you don't.
You grip the shining thing
with the vises of your fingers,
squeeze your eyes shut,
lock joints, lock teeth, lock lungs,
tuck your chin into your neck
and hang on, hang on
hang on, hang on!
It flips you like a poker chip.
It spins you like a moon gone mad with speed,
deranging the rhythms of ordinary day.
This carnival is crowded -- this casino is hot!
Although in the lounge of your shut-
down darkness you know only lonely solos,
the fact is you're about as singular
as a coin in a slot machine racketing through
this flashing harlequin pachinko
of common human drama.
Don't ask me how to get out of it!
That's me behind you, clutching at whatever
winks a hint of big wins, cartooning up out
of shark jaws and cannibal cauldrons,
parking my breath in the plastic vial
I keep tucked up under my collarbone
in case I need it again, some day.