expected

Pretend this is about love—
a poem about love.
If it helps, I will
break it into short,
five line stanzas.

But it won’t rhyme.
You’ll have to pretend that, too.
I don’t want to mess
around with thesauri
and dictionaries.

It’s disappointing, I know.
But don’t get caught up
in prejudiced notions of form.
You control your expectations,
and thus your experience.

Like this: your favorite verse,
where the words move
your silent lips, a
mimicry of vicarious speech
for the tender truths revealed.

You liked that last quintain.
And you will merely skim
the next because your mind and
your heart are still reeling
in the afterglow of perfection.

This
is
just
some
filler.

And you’re back, but only because
of preconditioning that the
final line is always
supposed to be important.
It isn’t, really.

Follow/Friend

FB FB

Associations

NY Neo-Futurists
Commonplace Books
Film Forum

Blogroll

‹ Home

Categories

  • Advertising
  • Arts
  • Aside
  • Books
  • Cats
  • Cooking
  • Design
  • Do Not Look/Watch
  • Essay
  • Funny
  • Games
  • Mad Men
  • Maps
  • Movies
  • Music
  • Neo-Futurists
  • New York
  • Personal
  • Philosophical
  • Photos
  • Poetry
  • Political
  • Science
  • Sports
  • Technology
  • Uncategorized
  • Tags

    ads arts brooklyn cats charts clever comics cooking criticism cute dance design dogs funny gadgets graphic design haiku how-to japan lgbtq literature math media memes metaphors mta music new york nfl nfl picks ny neo-futurists outings photos poetry political politics religion signs theater tv ads twitter videos want writing wtf

    Archives

  • November 2012
  • November 2011
  • October 2011
  • September 2011
  • August 2011
  • June 2011
  • April 2011
  • March 2011
  • February 2011
  • January 2011
  • December 2010
  • November 2010
  • October 2010
  • September 2010
  • August 2010
  • Meta


    Log in