Just so you'll know, I claim to have written the perfect poem back in 1991--possibly when poetry still mattered. By "perfect", I mean that this poem delivers on both continuation and progression--on the largest scale possible, it carries you on a structured little journey, and then dumps your ass hard while leaving you with a grand thought to process. Bite me.

Words seem to be the issue
As emotions must get by
Pathetic things to cling to
Yet poets and lovers try.

The best my heart can offer
Are words; soft, like fingertips
They paint a pretty picture
But cannot touch fragile lips.

Or words can be much harder
And tear sharp like jagged teeth
As strong words come much closer
To the meanings underneath.

But strength is not the answer
And subtlety's not direct
Messages words deliver
May not always be correct.

So; words are not the issue
Feelings in them, hard to see
Pathetic things to cling to
What else can a poem be?

1991 WetSpot Poetry

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