Poetry: Right Brain

I am going to write a poem now.

I am so tired of topic sentences,
Supported by details,
Restated in conclusions.

I don’t need prose.

Blocks of black syllables,
Linked by transitional devices,
Indented neatly,
Three to a page...

Depress me.

I need a poem.

Not rhymed or in pentameter,
Snooty sonnets or cutesy cinquains,
No ostentatious villanelles...

But free verse!
Winging to heights invisible
Before dropping,
Now reviving
And soaring again.

I will not use binder paper.

This poem will be torn from my life.
And the paper will be creased,
Ragged at the edges.

It will not need a title or a date.
Nor, in the upper right hand corner,
Will it need my name.

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