| The Fate of a Poem Never Read |
| What kind of stench does a rotten poem make? I don't want you to read this yet I fear it may go bad. I wish to devour it like an apple and feel the fulfillment of my stomach. Or, perhaps to ball it up, stuff it in my pocket and allow it to reassure me like an extra $5. I want to cure it, bag it, and freeze it for the off season. To paper my walls, And to board up my windows against the hurricane. But I fear I may... become accustomed to its taste, or forget it in the wash, not want it in July, or discover it to be... too plain, the wrong color, not strong enough, Or perhaps it will simply clash with my new curtains. |