Down On Frost

Eat your heart out Robert Frost
No.
Seriously.
Rise from the dead and tear that meter machine from your once golden chest
“Out, Out–”
Hurry now the meter’s running
And this free verse boy doesn’t have much time

For you see,
When I was a mere schoolboy,
Armed with humor and a penchant for the literal,
You hid your meaning from me
And any time I tried to figure you out,
The teacher would tell me I was wrong
Well maybe you were wrong
For trying to regiment sentiment in the event of God
‘Let thy form be nay lukewarm lest thine audience spit thou out!’

Nature: a thing to be experienced not described.
To roam across the bland ‘made foolish by books’,
As Silas would say,
Have I come to die in the wake of someone else’s Movement
Or have I come to blaze a trail and scorch the Earth of all the Master’s Majesty?
Poetry: tennis without a net? – aka Racquetball!

02-15-13