I realized that I stopped writing poetry regularly half a decade ago.
Bandwidth Question, maybe, been writing screenplays (trying to) for much of that time. Or perhaps something deep like retreat and comfort… Doesn’t matter, really. Should poetry really make sense to people?
The Love Broker’s Test
I have heard it said, often,
How I am unwise.
I have seen you see that Fear
that puts me to my motion.
For all of those, I am now barren.
Ungirded before your stern stone shine-less walls
Did not you see me there?
With tears of sand, In thick loud yellow heat?
Stupid and brash and bold, and to and for the brink, thus.
To gaze into the inch wide gap between you, me, plus us.
But, there was no new and gleaning truth.
So and back, and back. and back, and back.
Wond’ring at my lack-full suit with loud and listless sighs.