Poetry: Right Brain

I am going to write a poem.
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
Then dropping, dipping, drowning,
Now reviving
And soaring high 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.