A Poem Would Go Here

1.3.22

A poem would go here
bloodied and cut
like Van Gogh’s ear
muddied and rut found
ground bound

So much soul tearing ache
like pork on a plate

A man’s word
when words aren’t enough
when renown mastery cannot muster
when the god in us rails at
the weak meat of us
at the very feet of us
the breathe of us
and bellows a brick
of some unknowable sentiment
that rhymes with LISTEN
and sounds like SPEAK
and which drives us mad with meaning
divine seeming
and finds us crazed with our
ear in our hand
or in some strange land
or fucking a whole band
til our bladder is blue

I don’t know who
you are
but a poem would go here
like the beer of a broken father
if I could bother
to bring this beast to bare
to cut out my own hair
and say the thing I have in my chest
for which the words I would need are
somehow more than cosmic
and somehow less than the simplest of all:

I