Kill All Poets

From vaulted ceilings
off frescos
ringing marble tiles, a be-speckled run of chords
Tenor and soprano
round collumns like vines of roses

I do not idolize her
I. will. not. romanticize her

Even though it feels like....



Cross the Elffin bridge
On island Gwynn
at dusk
when the sun and the wind make
pink the corduroy skin of the bay

A salt wind I'd breath, beneath the warmth of her sigh
before her lips met mine
The throws of her passion, the trough of her lithe frame

Make waves
and burn signals where our bodies find the reef.
As the poet's fingers blacken and die

Because poetry starves
to death
when all words are fed to simple need





So I do not romanticize

it would only belittle

the green-blue gold shades
of the places where I belong.
Turning like foliage

Falling, like gravity
For you see




It is only
   physics at work.