Unpoetry

Poetry is broken, gone far away--
bailed in the darkest hours.
Abandoning

without care. Poetry, won’t you
please stop being
unsure?

You see, I know you’ve wondered
Should I desert
him?

I’ve seen you hit and run
like a practiced
desperado.

One manicured hand covering
half an eye, half a
reality--

but I stayed true. Poetry, I’ve wondered
who and what we’ve allowed this to
become

over the years. We’ve changed
so much I can barely
recognize

our faces. We’ve grown
together, grown into
symbiosis...

But it doesn’t seem you understand how
his goodnights still shatter my
heart

How badly I’ve needed you in this empty
month when you became white between
lines.

Poetry, I know you realize not everything
boils down to syntax and
deconstruction.

You tried not to let them smash you
with ivory hammers into
screaming

pieces they still call Poetry-- but I just can’t
seem to find you anymore buried
beneath

this avalanche of emotional debris where
they say your heart is still
beating.

Copyright (c) 2011 by Vincent John Ancona