NOTE TO A POET
nobody reads your poetry
nobody cares about your poetry
poets are Boo Radley shadows
rags forgotten under sinks
all the dogs about to be euthanized
smart enough to see it coming
poets are never forgotten
because, as far as the larger, functioning world goes,
poets are undocumented apparitions in unfortunate hats
ghosts from our pre-literate past
bloviating in the universally hated poetry reading voice
poets are brainwave landfills
ever been to a landfill?
nobody calls in sick to spend a tuesday at the landfill
just to feel the massive waste of this sad wreck
to breath in the burnt plastic
and stumble on dirty diapers and rotting milk
well, maybe a poet would
just to get to the bottom of it
this billion eyed city, and the dandruff it drops
in the form of cardboard hills
and painted fruit
poetry is read by other poets
to minimize the suicides
and incubate the spark
or squirming, put upon lovers
who struggle to get to the end
who might have something to say
if you’re really lucky
no matter,
poetry is the music of self permission
written by the lonely and forsaken
for those also afflicted
