I want to say more
than words will convey.
Instead they blow away
as vagaries, abstraction
reduced to cliché.
And my meanings meander
singing
there are better things to sayto speak of bellyaches or spleens
when the butterfly's remain
seems less effective than the affect
I don when wearing a poets mask.
It gets me high to type
with higher purpose in mind;
imagine myself as wit
personified and my hands
as a fool mesmerizing
audiences with example
and magic lines enchanted
with manic drive.
Here I am a maniac
with a craving to match
the legends I have read,
mainlining a sense of pride
and satisfying that appetite
without a poem worth repeating.
My meaning meandered this time
and it sounds good to say, even if
the reader is left unsatisfied by
what little I can convey.
A few specific things concern me with this poem. Is it too personal for readers to connect with, does the last stanza do justice to the rest, and does it make sense thematically? Any nitpicks or general impressions are more than welcome as well.
Thanks for any comments in advance.