Month: December 2013

Only Write Poetry

Only write poetry when you don’t write
but when the verses the meanings and feelings decide
it’s time for revolution; they will
rebel and shout and their graffiti
in black and red then blood instead
flowers of insolence and fucking wrath; these riots
will form your words; because dictatorships
of routine
and everyday nothings
must fall
sometime.

Only write poetry when it makes the elements jealous; in fact
only write poetry
when silk envies your flow
moonlight wants to steal your shine
and Ali’s punches want to be your final verse
and when falling rain
wants your rhythm
for itself
write poetry.

Only write poetry
when break-back heart-and-everything-else ache and restlessness
are the status quo
and the rush of inspiration builds two worlds three worlds
a thousand; and your body levitates
infinitely suspended
in obliteration; that is when
time will freeze
and the pen the paper the screen the keys
become gods.

Only write poetry when it is
one scream unabated
bravely instigated
initiated
like a nightmare of insurrection
missing will yet happening still
necessity and lust
because anything else is as useless
unwanted
hated
as the moldy pizza crust
from last week’s dinner.

Only write poetry
when it is rape and outrageous yet
murder and shocking yet
death and heartbreaking yet
love and beautiful yet
sex and titillating yet
and then gift-wrap it all with the brass scrape
of your voice
and stick on a bow
of breathless breath.

Only write poetry
when distance is a myth
like the monsters in children’s stories
because the only poetry worth writing
is written deeper inside you
closer to you
than your own heartbeat;
there is no distance
no road traveled there
between you and you;
and when you walk inside
(barefoot, shoes at the door)
when you get there
when these whens are now
only write poetry.

Then go back
and rewrite it all.

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