Article: Night Crawlers; Local poets recite free, but it could be verse.(VARIETY)

Poetry is a lonely business. The writer works from a cafe booth, punch drunk on coffee refills, cigarettes and the full weight of life's great mysteries: What must heaven look like? Where does hate come from? War, what is it good for? Which one of those guys is Hootie?

So forgive their excitement when the poets emerge from their smoke-filled cocoons to share their observations with the world.

"I wrote this one in the parking lot, so I'm going to say it first because I didn't write it down."

David Pomije, a 27-year-old administrative assistant, bounces out of a ratty easy chair, jewelry swinging from his ears. He stuffs a hand into the pocket of ...

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