Poets and the Various Piracies of Life
All poets should be saved by dolphins, all,
And not just Arion. We each require
A varying salvation. Very small
John Keats would need the clicking, squeaking choir
To focus healing bursts and pulses on
His shreds of lungs there on the Spanish Steps
A therapy like rays to make life yawn
And stretch inside his chest and banish steppes
Of lifeless plain there. Ezra Pound would need
The dolphins buoying up his evil heart
Until it could embrace a decent creed.
Their graceful playfulness might play a part
In saving on the Hellesponts of life
Those ones who aren’t like Byron lords of strife.