TO CERTAIN POETS ON THE MISUSE OF THE POETIC IMPULSE
you use your gift and it is extravagant
to throw brickbats at the effulgence of the Light
Light, like a Rose out of Dante out of the Paradiso,
not the Inferno
because it spoils the wished for dominance of your view
that everything is an eclipse and then the pit
and the pit is earth you say and oh! poor you
in your not so beautiful astuteness, crabbed rendering of the dazzling
and you would forge curtains of steel to steal and conceal
the least crack of light in your dismal and constant earthquake
there is no light, no cherishing God your circular bandit reasoning goes and you shake your fist
because the least music of the smallest bird every child knows
near the last metro station on earth
defeats your argument completely.
mary angela douglas 6 july 2021
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