Poetic Patterns Bend All to Their Will

Poetic Patterns Bend All to Their Will

The poets put their patterns onto things,

And men, and gods.  The poetry, its ends

At least, is aimed at addicts, lonely women, kings—

And poets are the enemies and friends

Of everyone at once.  The supple lines

Take on the world like tentacles or arms

In wide embrace.  The sonnet writer dines

With quill-like beak.  He does not dwell on harms

Or benefits for creatures that he eats.

The verse disgorges patterns, thoughts, and rhymes.

He uses victims as productive treats

For prosody—for omnivorous crimes.

..The poet eats the gods and then extrudes

….Them.  Truest poetry is not for prudes.