You are an agent provocateur,
a brat on the wrestling mat
who wants me to react, to fall
in your trap, to rhyme in time,
to give up all pretence of writing
modern poetry, to turn instead
to ancient rhythms of lyres
strumming and licks of fire
from the angry mouth
through which Hades roars.
You damn post-socratic,
fiend of language, cur
of the neo baroque,
what happened to simple
affirmation, to saying,
good job, Man,
welcome to my language,
write and fornicate
and make new
American Hispanics?
What happened
to those halcyon days
when we drank green tea
and rode to Saltillo
planning to seize
the Academy? Why give
me reason constantly
to write poetry useful
only to critics of the school
of friendships among poets?
Indran Amirthanayagam, c) July 31, 2018