The Real Poets

The real poets work like jewelers
Precision hung from their words like pendants
I am not so careful.
Fumbling over words and souls,
Tripping, pulling,
Playing at some ancient heresy.
The real poets can make words wait
But I, undisciplined,
Rush to listen,
Rush to speak the unhurried language of the real poets,
Holding up my hasty words like a child.
Look at what I heard, and quick listen to the words,”
Displaying my macaroni necklace poetry
Too earnest to be listened to
By the real poets.

April 22, 2015


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