A poem should be palpable and mute
then it should throw off its clothes
run naked through the streets
of Pamplona and chase bulls
then engage in a flagellation orgy
while masticating fried clams and orange
juice, after which, the poem should smoke
lots of hashish, laugh at billy collins
play a round of chess, and go for a nice
long walk in the countryside contemplating
whatnot. Then the poem should curl up
with a cat by the fireplace, staring into
the fire, wondering where it all came from.
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