Poetry is like electricity,
But without a switch,
And stronger;
Like lightning.
It strikes you, and suddenly
You're a pianist;
You can speak Swahili;
The color green tastes like
Starfruit (only you've never had it
So all you can think
Is, "Man, this forest is delicious!")

Poetry is a zap from nowhere.
It makes your hair stand on end;
It makes you half afraid and
Half eager. You start flying
Kites with keys and fixing the satellite
In storms because it's awful for
A second, but then
You're never the same.

I know.
I've been struck so many times
And each time, I've traded
Gibberish for English,
Sight for insight,
Words for love,
And love for words again.
I have heard voices bellowing
And crying
And laughing.
I have seen smoke and sunlight
And smelled sulfur and
Tasted honey and salt.

Maybe I am not "smart,"
Always leaping into danger,
But I can't think of a better way to die
Than  to be struck by poetry.