Ace Up the Sleeve

Poets!  You are the lips on fish swimming the upstream
of tomorrow, the fish resurrected after the ocean succumbs
to the tongue of dead economies, dead ideologies,
the moribund and liquefying rhetoric of the hedge fund.
Poets!  You are the tango of redemption, the cha-cha
of chutzpah, the Aztec two-step of the be-bop of ecology.
You are the ace up the sleeve of the laughing Buddha,
the codex of afternoon sex, the ex-stutterer texting
the elocution experts, the voice of Nav saying
turn left at the next chromosomal mutation, right on
the sublimated passion parkway, straight into the womb of
  Poets!  Ask not what your askew sanity can juice
from the reproductive machinery of death, but what the
caliginous junk heap of death says of the living.
Poets!  Eschew the static of deception
that pits us versus our verses, me versus you,
red versus blue, mind versus heart.  Poets!
Let your words be a start, a seed, a lantern
in nightest dark, let them illuminate the pumpkin’s
grin, the fugue of longing in a dog’s meow,
the sperm romancing the egg, the ancient chant
streaming from compassion to regeneration
to muse to music to the polyphonic squeal
of gladness fruiting again and again in the
hodgepodge stewpot of fecund life.  Poets!    

(c)2013 Michael Schein

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