Poetry

Poetry used to be like the burn at the bottom of a home cooked meal
Rises up to spread its scent throughout the entire cooking
Open it up and it flows out in its wholeness
Windy, wavy
Moving from pan to nostril
Touching man: belly first and brain after

Poetry used to be like porn
Can not participate but a way to satisfy the urge
Maybe on mute and enjoy the view it presents
Maybe on the speakers and tell everyone to screw their opinions
Maybe in the closet waiting for the laws to give approval

Poetry used to be a mother
Best you down to your last tear
Call you out for dinner and overfeed an apology into you
Spank, smack, do better
Wake you up on the morning after threatening you for that late night movie, type of love
Use her last breath to tell you to use your right hand to shake her hand

Poetry used to be a Bible
Word of the earth, Salt of the light
Forgive my commandments
For these are the sins to live by
You daughter in whom I am well pun intended
Or porn extended.
I cannot understand with all these internet connections

Poetry is now empty bottle
Men have drank with the hope of getting a letter at the bottom
But rock bottom has always been sand and Octopus
Man drunk. Pen down
Eights arms reaching for rhymes they are incapable of grasping right
Earth holding the blood writers bled into the art