The writing carpet, by Ken Belford

Poetry is everywhere and language is going
too fast. Repressed for thousands of years,
poetry is in the in-between now but much of it is
still kept on the shelf to help academics understand
the world. Before I was born, the breaks
were called theory but now poetry has filled
the chaos gap and I go around saying
what I just said. I write catastrophe models
with a low frequency variance called contact.

You can’t do anything very well
if you’re in denial about the existence
of poetry. Most of my poems are full of chaos
but some call it life, or love. Sometimes I think
there’s a need to cancel all the poetry classes
for two or three generations and then start over.
Even the President is saying the Gross
National Product is threatened because
the people are no good at poetry.

Poetry is like walking. It’s easy but it’s hard
to tell someone how to walk. Most just watch
and by imitation, learn how to do it.
When there is no poetic knowledge,
there can be no evolution, and when there is
dissonance, there is an illness called war.

Poem Cracked the Liberty Bell

He didn’t mean it: the plan, the body,

the shape of semantics, the visceral signals
cried out for disruption. Poem wrings
his hands. Indecisive art.

Freedom was the name
of the security guard at the door.

Form is never more. Philadelphia
folds around the absent sound.

Is it new mythologies Poem seeks,
dodging tourist lines and
palmed-bill allusions?

Poem’s research is a re-
calibration of intent.

No, fashion isn’t Poem’s strong suit.

A rhythm of activity presides.
Besides, the bell wasn’t really
there to be broken. Poem
resides in it; Poem,
alive again, takes the job
of tour guide. Misleads.
Breaks again.