Poem

you can't say the word poem
in a poem
it's just not poetic
it's a hammer to the marbled façade;
scissors to mystery's veil
it's a clear and vulgar warcry
just say what you need to say
what you can't hold in
but not outline the box where it lives


you said I was your favorite poet
so I found you some sandburg,
made sure you'd met cummings and poe
like penguined pebbles
I've not been following a recipe,
or expecting your receipt
I saw a mother biking the city with her babe
fresh and wide-eyed with the blueday,
her charge was sweet as well
but I saw you in her place
poems are just another path
to get out what I can't give direct
it's what happens to snowfall in summertime
the notes on a broken string
it's just not the right season to say
so I sigh,
slide it here instead
under tomorrow's closed door