So Much Poetry Is Death (Draft 1)

So Much Poetry Is Death (Draft 1)

The blood of my creation
splatters me in an alley
where I wonder if
it’d be worth
mopping myself up.

I don’t feel well
and I don’t
want to vomit again

unless there’d be
a poem that
would sell to the chic.

I just feel sick
and I don’t know
how to do this.

I don’t know anyone
and don’t know how
I could be at
a cocktail party for poets

because I don’t know
how any of my silent screams
would make me a rhyme that
would take my love into the world.

— Douglas Gilbert

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