SIGN ON TENTH STREET NORTHWEST, OKLAHOMA CITY
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I don’t write poetry anymore because
nobody can conjure up Apollo as good as Milton,
or steal his material like the Old Possum,
and you know how it feels to have wings on your heels,
and anyway the true barbaric yawp is
melanosomes groaning in white chains,
spiral arterioles gushing lunations.
I laid out words like Scrabble® tiles in syzygy.
I laid out words like mosaics,
like I thought God wanted them laid out,
I laid out words in my heart,
my pacemaker the
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and anyway I read in a book
about how to write Dead White European Male poems
that poems about poetry
suck.