Sent me to poet prison
so that I can atone .
Oh don’t stick me with the poets
or the mirror makers or the
prison-trained upholsterers .
I could do with solitary confinement
for an indeterminate time
sentence me but not with the experts or the slippery tongued
Put me with the elders or the been -theres and the worn- outs .
I might find the unforced crowd for companionship anyway,
the un-strugglers and the contented and the
just theres .
I know it all washes over like human tide .
I’ll wait in the tide pool prison
with the cooks and the cleaners if I can
and let the promoters pass me by
in the strain .
Send the poets and the whizzes and the tinkers away ,
if you will , and especially the energetic thinkers .
Give me a cell with cardboard bars
so I can fret an unrhymed and unlettered escape .
” You have a poet in you , but a damned morbid one .” —-
Long Day’s Journey Into Night .