Andromeda

The slope of your neck, in the dawn's light
would muddle a geometer's art
a pale curve half aglow/half in night
like the space between waves as they part.

The feeling, like a stone in the gut
frightened and weighted by love
wheeling birds not merely in rut
they set motion to the stars above.

Were you set before monsters by fate
I would be your Perseus and free you
But the morning is getting late
And I know you have things you must do.

So I look to the stars for your beauty
and I look for your curves to the sea
and the rock, where you are memory
That rock is and will always be me.

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Poetry Written Only For The Rich?

In the times that came before
the rich found verse a bore
the bard was viewed as plebeian
but poor folks found him a scream

The reason for rhyme and rhythm
is so works could be remembered when given,
and the power and music of verse
was its ability to be rehearsed.

Modern poems would have fallen flat
trace their forgettableness back to that.

No, poetry was made for the illiterate.
its the scholar who all have made shitovit.

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