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,

dipping, 

drowning,
Now reviving

high
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.