some things can not be said in words

brilliant though they are, words disappoint


we cheapen them

transmuting meaning

into a common stale


used up, cast off


the purity of emotion unsullied

requires silence

but poets are paid to translate the unexpressable

into the inexplicable


do i dig my own grave

every time i give birth

to rhyme?


the rime and albatross

around my neck







i have stopped thinking


to feel