Unpoetic
it would have been so easy to squeeze out
neat verses from jumbled random thoughts,
or fashion stanzas pretending profundity,
or dash off lines of serious
lyrical nonsense
had I taken to heart the presumed propriety
to be aloof, numb to the muffled stirrings
of the mind over artless triflings
with good and evil, justice,
ethics or politics,
had I been detached and insulated
from pedestrian dalliances
with the raw jubilations
and searing sorrows of
too familiar souls,
and I would have been to you a true poet,
your cold comrade at the shrine
of a stoic art of the brain,
not of the heart...but I'm
the unpoetic.
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