What Is Weirder?

What if a bartender
Asks you what you’ll have,
And you answer, “A banana”?
What if she gives you one?

What is weirder?

What if a cab driver picks you up,
And before he starts driving he asks,
“Where to?”
And you say, “Your house.”

And then he takes you there.

What is weirder?

What if you have a birthday party,
And someone asks you how old you are,
And you say, “I’m dead.”
And then they bury you.

What is weirder?

Try to make sense of that, my friend.

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I Am Poetry (I Am You)

Poetry is not writing.
Poetry is painting.
Poetry is living and loving.
Poetry is sharing.
Poetry is me and you and us.
Poetry is my past, present and future.
What is yours?
Who are you?
Who am I?
Who do they say that I am?
I am poetry. I am you.
I am yesterday, today and tomorrow.
I am dead.
I am what you fear.
I am what you like.
I am what you want.
I am nothing.
I am everything.
I am that I am.
What am I?
Who do you think I am?
What is the point?
What is the truth?
What is the point of truth?
Why not tell each other lies all day?
Wouldn’t that be more fun? 🙂

Speak Plainly, They Say

Today I listened to professors
Say what professors say
About poetry.

“There must be an access,”
One declared.
“Write in sentences,”
Said another.

My poems are in English!
Isn’t that access enough?
Perhaps we look too much
For poetry to communicate.

Perhaps we are used to being
Spoon-fed our art.
Isn’t there room to think,
To ponder, to consider,

To analyze?
If a psychologist can interpret
A reading of something as abstract
As a Rorschach,

Can’t readers come up
With something
From difficult poems?
Do we have to speak plainly?

What is the fun in that?
How about a challenge?
How about solving a riddle?
How about mystery?

Perhaps one day
People will read poems
In order to understand
Another person,

Instead of always
Expecting a mirror
Into which they can gaze
At their own reflection.