without violating personal boundaries?—
hot question for poetry.
hot question for poetry.
People might give my work a
look-see,
but not if they’ll have to leave their underwear in the shrubbery.
A poet wants to share their moxie
but not if they’ll have to leave their underwear in the shrubbery.
A poet wants to share their moxie
because it’s what they love,
what pricks them every day
to get up once again to greet the quandaries
of life, which are the tutelary deities of poetry—
to get up once again to greet the quandaries
of life, which are the tutelary deities of poetry—
those loving ones who bring joy
and are hiding in the scenery
somewhere—but I’m not entitled to share their moxie;
and are hiding in the scenery
somewhere—but I’m not entitled to share their moxie;
who they even are I can’t
reveal—
probably they’re just new versions of me.
The clothed-elbow touch of poetry
probably they’re just new versions of me.
The clothed-elbow touch of poetry
expects you to fall in love
by proxy,
so that sharing love's a kind of muggery—
sharing my moxie
despite grave questions.
so that sharing love's a kind of muggery—
sharing my moxie
despite grave questions.
