Yes there are marvelous words
which the world is satisfied to call poetry
but which is not, it is so detached
from the thing, and yet words
can’t get enough of themselves
since their owners are now falsely
thought to be
writers of divine poetry.
A heap of words can now be bound
in a book which doesn’t make a sound.
You can look at it this way—two
meanings exist in what poets do:
a significant, original theme—
immediately presented as a dream.
Remember when you chased love
when that’s what it was?