Were I to

build a poem

it would not matter

with what great care 

I placed the brick of

each word into the

sentences of walls,

or with what love

I arranged these walls

into stanzas, for soon my

poems would expand into 

cities, and it would not matter

with what great care I constructed

the towers of metaphor, or the skyscraper 

similes – would not matter how neatly I arranged 

the syntax streets, or the thoughtfulness with which I 

arranged the concrete corners into angles pleasing to the eye,

or what artfulness I imbued into these designs –

it would not matter with what great care

I placed street signs to lead readers to 

their meaning, for my poems

would remain obscure as 

modern architecture, 

unyielding as steel 

and my friends 

will surely

read them, 

smile & say:

I don’t get it.