#762: Ars Poetica

To be bad at it.
Good at the sentence,
bad at the poem.
To write prose
and then just
break that shit up
into lines.
To write the
poem-like-thing,
the almost poem,
the near beer poetry.
To reach for the form
because of its economy,
its compression, its
spongy versatility.
To reach for the form
because you have
a thing for the short
line and the long
skinny stanza.
To always feel sheepish
about how quickly
the poems spill,
and self-conscious
because you know
how hard some poets
work, how long it takes
some of them to
finish anything.
To feel less self-conscious
because you know also
that their poems are
better for the hard work.
To keep writing them
despite everything,
hundreds of them.
To keep writing them,
like chewing on the sleeves
of your hoodie; it’s a habit
that’s hard to break.