i am not a trained poet

 

i am not a trained poet

i am not a trained poet

my telescope looks at the moon from the wrong end

it is far far away from being a poem this dot of light

and try as i might to train my mind otherwise

it is still only a white dot 

but the telescope is an interesting thing ~ is it not

i can point things out with it like a walking stick

across the valley over there by the meadow tree

i can open and close it and polish the leather

with my hand upon the hands that owned its moon

but i am not a trained poet

i have never been running along those lines

shunted into all of genre’s sidings buffered to a stop

i am off the lead feral and wild never to be trained

in anything that pens anything in the flocks’ soaring 

i leave the universe’s laws and draw unto myself

all the thoughts that i have trained on you