Drowning, one inch sun,
You shone, once,
On everyone,
Sublime in a sublime sky,
Spectacular in my eye,
Able to walk among
Towering subjects of poems,
You dissolve, now, in a glass,
Small, and on your own.
Hazy, unique poison,
You will be my end
And once you gave life to worlds.
Poetry is saying
What you’re not really saying,
Evoking a sun
Less than a dream of a cloud,
Not sexy, not real, not exciting.
You hide in writing
When others lie out loud.
In love you play at war.
You defeat each other.
You are your prisoners,
Hoping you treat each other well.
You cannot tell
How much of yourselves you capture,
How many of your enemy fell.
Love sells to the seller,
The selling can never stop.
You will never find a body
Until the bodies drop.
You will never find a voice
Until the voice lies,
Or the soul vanishes
In the sunrise.
Poetry, that had a tear in its eye,
Is now a cold-hearted spy.
War, all war, is music,
Making the throngs throng.
Do you know we need the bad
To make the good song?
Do you know if you give to what gives away,
Love and giving are wrong?
