The Poet Answers the Journalist
Why will poetry dance
at the break of morning?
Because we’ll shed this long night like a
stiff tuxedo and run naked down the hall
Who knows the naked
poem’s secret passion?
One who dresses in sheer words
and removes them when necessary
Where do undressed poems
hide when ashamed?
Under the shag carpet that leads
to the pantry of platitudes
What did the platitude say
when confronted by poetry?
I say this for your own good,
and for the sake of those you love…
How to love? How to love?
How to love?
Love seldom comes in the name of love,
but through these strange and sweetened tongues.
(Originally appeared in Ruminate)
