I cannot stand here as I am.
smoking. drinking
pulling myself along on
light svelte strings.

people will see
find out.

surely it is the poets
that are constantly
at a loss of words.

if anyone cannot find
the words to a
particular sunset or
it is us.

because all our time
is spent with words.
we light them
when we are alone.

but, our fire is fragile
it runs amuck.

if a poet does
see a sunrise, and-

if all he can do is
point like mad at the sky
and stomp his legs
like he has never
been loved before.

it is a poet that will do so.