contrary to popular belief,
the poets
are not so quiet;
the poets
are the loudmouth
stand-up comedians—
doing such necessarily
frowzy impressions
of the unspeakably majestic
that they sometimes
bear repeating:
when the wind's
high, those songbirds
are all-like—
and the flowers
have those looks on their
faces where they're just—
and the shape
and the color
and the aspect
of the water
were never really
the same after that...
Of course,
in the heat
of the moment
no one is laughing;
the audience is barely listening.
And so the poets, those
rare idiots, feel
all the more
emboldened
to just say what they're thinking.
