Ars Poetica For The Ones Like Us

Simple language, complex effects.
A poem about a story about a man
Whose song becomes a never-ending poem.
That is, a poem about a poem.
Ars poetica, indeed.
This unending poem is like a home that protects and shuts out the world,
With an attic “where aesthetic and spiritual innuendoes / Float.”
Leakages occur across the inside-outside divide,
Life and art with their competing demands.
This poem by Terrance Hayes deserves a wide readership.
But remember to open the windows
And let the world in.
Yes, you.

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a word with you, please

Four people have said my recent posts were poetry.
No, they’re only experiments in spacing.
That and nothing more.
It’s a wholesome affair, really.
My sentences are leaner as a result.
Simpler and easier to understand.
I like pleasant shapes and patterns, too.
This gestalt intrigues me more than a paragraph.
Except the top line is too damn long.
I’m tempted to remove a word. Resisted.
I offer this explanation because you might suppose me of versifying
And not succeeding on a truly grand scale.
That and the experiment will continue till I’m tired of it.
Next: A Clean, Well-Lighted Place.
If you’ve not read this story, take 10 minutes to do so.
It’s really quite extraordinary.
Till Tuesday.
Best.

Postscript. I deleted two words in the top line.