I Feel That Poetry Is

The Poem Is Sad Because It Wants To Be Yours, And Cannot Be.

One Can Lose A Good Idea By Not Writing It Down, Yet By Losing It One Can Have It: It Nourishes Other Asides It Knows Nothing Of, Would Not Recognize Itself In, Yet When The Negotiations Are Terminated, Speaks In The Acts Of That Progenitor, And Does Recognize Itself, Is Grateful For Not Having Done So Earlier.

Just Keep Playing, Mastering As You Do The Step Into Disorder This One Meant. Don't You See It's All We Can Do? Meanwhile, Great Fires Arise, As Of Haystacks Aflame. The Dial Has Been Set And That's Ominous, But All Your Graciousness In Living Conspires With It, Now That This Is Our Home: A Place To Be From, And Have People Ask About.

Much That Is Beautiful Must Be Discarded So That We May Resemble A Taller Impression Of Ourselves.

Some Certified Nut Will Try To Tell You It's Poetry, (it's Extraordinary, It Makes A Great Deal Of Sense) But Watch Out Or He'll Start With Some New Notion Or Other.