Keats you sit on the opposite hill from me
reading your poems to sheep flocks and pastoral folk
While on my side of the hill, I am here writing
more than poems! My poems have a desire to stretch human laws
What else can I do when my mind is restless like a demons pinata?
Your poetry is beautiful, but not anything like I write.
Imagine feeling the weight of Moses stone tablets and added to that more stone tablets, more of people's cultural expectations coming at me.
More whoredoms of news stories, more whoredoms of decisions made over how I move my hands and feet.
Speak to the star petalled lily or the mockingbird nest
I cannot gather words for them right now
let them continue to be your center of focus, the grand subject of your poems.