Long Poem

I hate long
poems that
go on and on
forever
making some
cerebral point
pointed by a
point of view
only the poet
who wrote the poem
would ever know
or care about.
Universal truth
abandoned and
a common bond
never bound but
words expected by
some teacher in
an obscure
junior college
to be understood
by her students
-What it mean?
-Why line break there?
-Why 50 pages
but each line
only 3 words?
Only the poet
who wrote the poem
would ever know
or care about
a lack of rhyme
or mention of
misanthropy on
the eve of winter’s
Dalmatian grip
or a circus
of puffins
returning to their
birth-place-slowly;
How magic
leaves leave Fall
by falling magically
with thoughts of
stardom fading as
the noonday sun
shines brighter
than all the home
fires burning to
call the lost
home for love
or hate or
whatever awaits
their time scarred lives.
For It’s these
obvious signs of
elevated “greatness”
and existential
extension that
grip me by
the throat and
threaten my very
being until, relenting,
I grasp the drawn-
out beast in a
fervent embrace
and declare my
acceptance and love
for all eternity but –
I cannot with
right conscience love
what demands to
be unlovely and
rip my life from life
and imprint it on
an unprintable page.And that is why
I hate long poems
that go on and on
forever
making some cerebral point,
pointed to a
point of view
only the poet
who wrote the poem
would ever know
or care about.