Dead Notebook

Few things irritate me

as much as my talk to text’s

unwillingness to learn

the way I speak.

I say unwilling,

I don’t believe it’s unable

I think it’s just stubborn

and snobbish

and anti-southern

I know some people say

us old southern men

sound like we have

a mouth full of marbles

when we talk

I refuse to believe

that is true

at least in my case.

In any case,

the dead notebook:

instructives on

how to behave

as a poet.

One:

write whatever

the hell you want

use whatever form

or no form

rhyme and reason

are both completely optional

as is punctuation

and capitalization

tense and structure

you’re a poet

you make the rules

as you go along

and anyone who doesn’t

like your rules doesn’t

have to read your poetry

it’s really simple.

And don’t explain.

OK explain if you want to.

I’m just gonna hate

you if you do.

I love to hear

other people explain

what a poem means

where the poet was

coming from

what he was writing about

what he was really saying.

But given that

the poet rarely knows

any more than the rest of us

people just guessing

but given that we

tend to give the poet

a lot of credit for knowing

what the hell he’s talking about

the poet explains his poetry

it’s worse than a comedian

explaining their joke.

So don’t do it

or if you do it,

know I’m going to hate you.

That pretty much sums

it up so I think

I’ll stop the poem here.

Though if I wanted,

because I’m the poet

I could go on.

But because

I am the poet

and I don’t want

to go on I will

not go on,

the end.