The Natural Enemy of Poetry

Never trust poetry we say to us tonight

Never believe the kiss that seals the deal

We can make here only a meager claim

Only a small identification to the challenge

Poetry holds between the creed and the craft

How do we speak beyond the ordinary?

How do we speak rituals that court sensuality?

What truth? We strain to couple these to find

What elusive consistencies? The sweet fetid

Dust of our words O thank whomever thus

Proclaims it fills our tearless eyes wet with years

Of sadness we aren’t at all yet ready to discuss

Such deep chasms as we find ourselves in! 
Across what fissures thrashing lunatics quench 
What thirst too cold or too hot for us?