what i am saying – what am i saying – i don’t know

this one sort of writes itself
no idea what
poetry
is for
certainly no one reads it
so i tuck many of my secrets
inside poems
for none to hear
or discover
but me

not entirely true
but
who’s listening

if you want to know what books sell
there’s no need to google it
to know
without a shadow of a hope
poetry
is
dead
last

woo wee
here we are
you (or just me)
and me

i don’t know
what i am saying
writing actually
to be true
not even close to the point

i hit a key
a letter appears
i am a generative intelligence
or i hope i am

to myself i am full of it
misguided yet focused
hyper neuro atypical
is there a part of the spectrum
for poetry
or language obsession
or whatever my incessant word flow is

hypergraphia
not sure that applies
but i’m not sure about a lot of things
a lot of most of everything

it is not that i lack confidence
motivation
creative drive

obviously that is not the case
but
since i am praying poems to myself
i only have one purpose
right here
*this*
is to entertain me

yes, i hear you say
but there’s that young poet who is in all the airports
lovely short pithy poems
sometimes with a line illustration
that the poet drew
or ai drew
but who does that matter to
what if ai could be trained
to write really good poems
free verse
just give the machine some parameters
an algorithm
and a subject for a prompt
and
drawing all the poems in every language
the gpt will pop out a

poem

like this one

well
okay
i’m being facetious
i am writing a poem
to entertain myself
capture a moment
reflect on my angry partner in the next room
oops
sorry about that
random intrusive thought
reflection

a poem
is a distinctly human act

as i was childlike i wrote poems
with short punchy punchlines
moments of brilliant expression
of something
i was feeling

a word is a poor stand-in for a feeling
but even our minds are burbling in language
and the chemicals of
memories
reflections
and
dreams

a young poet
famous beyond measure
has a smaller pool of experience
within which to reflect their imagination

i do not continue
scribbling letter sequences
to become famous
not even to be heard

i write in broken verse
no caps
few punctuation marks
and the little “i”

it is poetry
to me
might be something else
in your mind
as you read
or don’t read
my words

i would love to speak these words to you
give you a sense of the cadence
tone of my voice
warmth
pauses
moments we share

for now
i’ll rest here
pause

2-18-24

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