Saturday, July 14, 2018

Some Smarter Thing’s Problem

I once wondered why dreams
rarely blundered into my
night’s somnolent view.
Now I see they arrive in the day!
They’re in the drawings I draw.
They’re not in my poems:
poetry drives, by my lights,
into being: it endlessly aims
at our seeing its sense.
But drawings and dreams
are more bumbling and dense
and far dumber than poems.
They’re a who-knows-what
running amok. Some Power
That Was at the drawing board

long ago let them come in:
allowed unavowed, unavowable
sins (if they’re sins) to kick
pencil and pen around
paper to be what a dream is:
opaque, overwrought,
a mistake. Some, without
protest, reside in the crow’s
nest right outside my window,
where sometimes I lob them,
to make them not mine but
some smarter thing’s problem.

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