Paul Sylvester Poet I do not know?

I'M Too Tired To Write This Poem

I'm too tired to write this poem
with meaningless words and
clauses. Showy, proper diction
feigned through years of misuse

I am too tired to think up
the crypt - some long standing
metaphor - with its stained-glass
transparency?/obscurity?/opacity?

I am too hot in this room
to describe the way the heat
takes me back
to the years I never spent in 
Georgia

I am too itchy from bug bites
to liken my skin to a rug
; 
too swollen with pride
to let a facetious poem like this
out of its shell. Out where it can
breathe and be real.
;
I am too scared to say what
I really mean - and too callow to see
a discrepancy

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