Friday, January 24, 2020

Poems and Poets




.
Poems toss and turn
and yearn ambitiously
ambiguously: coyly donning,
dropping fig leaves in
.
the windy autumns of the heart –
on the one hand they
admonish and demand –
and on the other, part
.
with every expectation
of an outcome – with
an arguably psychopathic
cool capacity for little
.
textures, small decisions,
surgically precise incisions –
self-forgetting: moments
after bringing things to heat.
.
Poets are a bit like that
as well, of course, but
they can't, quite to the degree
a poem can, be what they
.
eat. Poems self-consume:
they are the food they
cook. Which somehow gets
the poet off the hook.
.

.

No comments: