poetry is
more seductive than
pornography
and more  dangerous

it dances in tunnels
in veins
and bone marrow

crippled, it cries
that any awkward step
will do

and for those whose hearts
are gentle          and deformed
it holds the limbs
of limping sounds

where there's a wall
poetry
cuts a gate
opens a door
or sets a ladder
there are methods  of torture
you will never recognize
as you give up your maps
of underground passages
where all your treasure lies

there are words that whisper
like crumbling bricks

birds  carrying messages
taped to their feet
and slow light, filtered
through cheap sacking on the windows

poetry is
an emptiness to hold pain
like the vacancy
of a wide-open prairie
where the wind blows
carrying away   your
lost tickets   to the dance

you watch your life
from the outside
see your shoes
gather dust
beneath
your
bed

poetry is
an eternal autumn
you can never rake up
all the falling leaves
that settle
in the creases of your heart