Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Slight, tragic & short-lived


“Poetic” does not have to mean “confusing,”
but it somehow always does. Anon, anon
& on & on ‘til the break of dawn, get down
from your pedestals & podia & start musing
on the scrapheap of sad & beautiful wrecks
in your unfinished drafts folder. It’s fodder
for soothing the sad & amusing the beautiful
w/ an alas here, a forsooth there, & everywhere
a hey nonny nonny no. Poems get you laid
in your wildest dreams, & pubs get you paid
in unicorns & moonbeams. In Plato’s Republic
questions were encouraged. So, I ask you,
thrice removed from the truth & the king,
what are you writing/who are you imitating?