I cry, I laugh, I groan, I sing --
that's my poetry
I fear, I stammer, I struggle --
that's my poetry
I do not think
but feel --
and that's my poetry.
I am not a rope that ties down ideas
nor am I a vat of emotions
I am not thin in contours
nor am I fat in meaning
god, the sun, and love
-- these spherical systems --
could not be further away
my poetry is direct
it is more like time than like life
my poetry has direction
it is more like the wind than time
do you know the wind's biography?
the wind eats fantasies
the wind has no home
doors and windows are always built
so it can escape
the wind was naturally born of fire
when I close my eyes
I see a streak of flame
but that fire is too remote
my poetry however is
no bouquet delicated to eternity
it is a pale steel rod
among the pliant stalks
that sway in life's flowerbed
aimed quietly at you
my poetry is negation.
uh-oh, I got careless and said "You"
it's a bad habit of mine
it's not good to be so vague about someone's name
I am a hunter but
my shooting is masturbation for me
it is my profession to kill
locating, chasing, and making decisions
a hunter pursues himself
together with his game
four eyes confront each other
and call each other "you"
my word goes straight to you
my word does not descend like a parachute
floating down through death
my poems are not hymns
my poetry is question and answer
my poetry is not music rising beautifully through the air
my poetry is a storm that soon will swirl and rage
a gentle song of love
a rugged wind that carries fire
my prairie where the hunter and his game
frantically mate with each other
o cloud that rises
o radiant charmed
but wait that holy celestrial nimbus--
that in not my poetry, after all.
Softlead
that's my poetry
I fear, I stammer, I struggle --
that's my poetry
I do not think
but feel --
and that's my poetry.
I am not a rope that ties down ideas
nor am I a vat of emotions
I am not thin in contours
nor am I fat in meaning
god, the sun, and love
-- these spherical systems --
could not be further away
my poetry is direct
it is more like time than like life
my poetry has direction
it is more like the wind than time
do you know the wind's biography?
the wind eats fantasies
the wind has no home
doors and windows are always built
so it can escape
the wind was naturally born of fire
when I close my eyes
I see a streak of flame
but that fire is too remote
my poetry however is
no bouquet delicated to eternity
it is a pale steel rod
among the pliant stalks
that sway in life's flowerbed
aimed quietly at you
my poetry is negation.
uh-oh, I got careless and said "You"
it's a bad habit of mine
it's not good to be so vague about someone's name
I am a hunter but
my shooting is masturbation for me
it is my profession to kill
locating, chasing, and making decisions
a hunter pursues himself
together with his game
four eyes confront each other
and call each other "you"
my word goes straight to you
my word does not descend like a parachute
floating down through death
my poems are not hymns
my poetry is question and answer
my poetry is not music rising beautifully through the air
my poetry is a storm that soon will swirl and rage
a gentle song of love
a rugged wind that carries fire
my prairie where the hunter and his game
frantically mate with each other
o cloud that rises
o radiant charmed
but wait that holy celestrial nimbus--
that in not my poetry, after all.
Softlead