on the subject of poets and their agendas

On the Subject of Poets & Their Agendas


Go ahead... nail me to a tree...
on any Good Friday in December
let it be now
before the moon is full
and bleeds with her solitary mask,
dense of light,
I shall not kiss the ground you walk on
to win your favor or fervor
or up the ante,
the game is stacked
against us,
against you,
against me,
your professed love is sitting on a fence
and you have absolutely no defense,
pushing nine-inch nails as if you had a
hammer, as if you were a Jedi
with your own special Yoda,
you're so full of holes your story leaks,
you're no more a poet than I am,
you see, I admit to selling my soul
love and ecstasy have
no rules and regulations
trials and tribulations
computations and compilations
no laws and decrees
no should's or how to's
no dharma or karma
no dogma
no continuum
evolution or devolution,
this dissolution of us and them
is in the spaces between you and I
where the sun meets the shadow long
and high, so high we'll never fall
in love.