upon reading her poetry collection
her poems
read like
prayers
to an
older set
of gods
chants
from
an antler
thistled
priestess
shaking blood
from
her golden
tresses
transports me
to the
fantasy forests
of her mind
where
her words
are red eyes
peering
from
every shadow
poems like
bathwater
babies
discarded
by gin wild
gypsies
crawling
toward me
howling
and implacable
strangling me
with slick
placentas
until
there is
nothing left
of me
except
my desire
for her
____________
social media memes killed the internet poet
it’s been nearly ten years
since I’ve written a poem
around the time my children
got savvy with the
internet search engines
my fingers stopped typing
confessional poetry
is not the greatest
creative outlet
for a man with
the darkest demons
to exorcise
justifying my sins
to internet poetry sites
after a while
began to read
like fan fiction written
to myself
so I stopped
and while the world
missed nothing,
what with the
cleverly reposted memes
grabbing acknowledgements
and validations
in ego-soothing multitudes
I lost everything
I ever had to offer
____________
finally eventually
when I discovered my audience
I lost my voice
all those fragments of wisdom
gleaned from half-priced books
refracted back at me
from half-assed experiences
lost the urgency of imagination
lately I’ve heard whispers
ten years removed
from the thrill of the byline
seventy blank notebooks
countless idle black felt pens
anticipating that meager
creative spark sputtering
across collapsing synapses