Said The Poet To The Analyst

 My business is words.
 Words are like labels, 
or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
 
I confess I am only broken by the sources of things; 
as if words were counted like dead bees in the attic, 
unbuckled from their yellow eyes and their dry wings.
 
I must always forget who one words is able to pick 
out another, to manner another, until I have got 
somethhing I might have said.
.
.
 
but did not.
 
Your business is watching my words.
 But I 
admit nothing.
 I worth with my best, for instances, 
when I can write my praise for a nickel machine, 
that one night in Nevada: telling how the magic jackpot 
came clacking three bells out, over the lucky screen.
 
But if you should say this is something it is not, 
then I grow weak, remembering how my hands felt funny 
and ridiculous and crowded with all 
the believing money.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...