The Murder of an Art Form

It's not about the line art drawing of a few broken light bulbs on page 36,

or about how it will look in typewriter font over a white blank page,

I don't want it to be about that,

if that's all this is then stop reading,

don't call it poetry until it leaves you shaking,

my words should not think for you,

I don't want them to,

I want you to feel something,

something that you've never felt before,

something you couldn't explain in any amount of words,

but it leaves you searching,

don't call it poetry until it leaves you craving,

until it makes you yearn to read it for the first time again,

to feel the bliss of before and experience the moment after,

like a rapture,

until you pore over it a thousand times and it still burns you up inside,

the words carve themselves into you and find a home where there wasn't an empty space before,

it should leave you breathless and starving,

restlessly seeking,

if you want a pretty picture and a quote,

stop reading.