everything is poetry
if you fancy
calling it
that
simply because
ah
come on now
nothing ever rhymes

find yourself
failing to forgive your famous father
then find yourself
in future, in a funk, in fever
then find yourself
fearful, frail and flaking away
then find yourself
faking friends with those aware of their familiar grace
then, finally, find youself
forgetting

see yourself
singing, sung, strengthened and strung out
then see yourself
silencing your sorrow's sighing sirens
then see yourself
selling scalps for salt and silver,
then see yourself
sinking in your sister's salads, seeking some significance
then, suddenly, see yourself
satisfied

make your way, still undiscovered
nurse the innocent hereafter and
turn to me, not as a lover
as a friend

so shall these next eight lines
serve as certain and conclusive evidence
that poetry
(this kind of poetry)
is as elementary
as touching a key
that takes your illusory fountain pen
from one written line
to another

you are a mole that has only one eye
you are a fish that has only one leg
crying to Yahweh for somewhere to cry
begging the spirits for someone to beg

go try one more time, mister raven
go try.

i have not a desire
to become an apt and voiceful poet
but a blooming hope to grow
into a word war general