The Poet

THE POET Reinvents the world all clean and neat Passing it on from village to village on electric feet Armed with pen, peanut butter and a few sheets He listens for sounds others don’t hear Turning self inside out backwards in the mirror Shouting out the roof of his room hot tears The poet, faithful to his muse soul alert Floats o’er mountains, forests through dust of plain and desert Hatching rhyme from paradise to Mother Earth One of the world’s most solitary really alive in mind alone Like a word-archaeologist digging for a bone He scoffs at social zenith calls fancy his true home