Another Grumpy Ars Poetica, Profoundly Unrhymed

First, what it’s not.

It’s not to shock or cajole anybody into feeling deeply

in some act of narcissistic displacement.

It’s not to try to make somebody feel what I feel dammit.

It’s not to “confess.”

Not to imagine anyone is “me,”

including me.

Not to make a big thing out of it

but to let the big thing

(and there’s always a big thing)

make something

(never itself)

happen.

Little?

Never.

Sneaky?

Right.

Have it have more ambition than God

and don’t permit a bit of it --

remotely! --

to be mine.






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