What I try with my own stuff is to work the poem to a slow climax through a series of quiet painful dissonances.

Late at night the horses stumble Around the camp and I awake. I lie on my elbow watching Your beautiful sleeping face Like a jewel in the moonlight. If you are…

With my own group I like to keep it loose. They have to counter rather than go with me. When they stop I like to be moving.

In the star-filled dark we cook Our macaroni and eat By lantern light. Stars cluster Around our table like fireflies.