Piker Press Banner
November 28, 2022

Poets Die

By Michael Lee Johnson

Poets Die

Why do poets die;
linger in youth
addicted to death.
They create culture
but so crippled.
They seldom harm
except themselves --
why not let them live?
Their only crime is words
they shout them out in anger
cry out loud, vulgar in private
places like Indiana cornfields.
In fall, poets stretch arms out
their spines the centerpiece
on crosses on scarecrows,
they only frighten themselves.
They travel in their minds,
or watch from condo windows,
the mirage, these changing colors,
those leaves; they harm no one.






Article © Michael Lee Johnson. All rights reserved.
Published on 2022-04-25
Image(s) are public domain.
0 Reader Comments
Your Comments






The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.