What Michael Richards Couldn’t Know About Poets Either
Poets are ferocious
dogs holding themselves
on short leashes
skinny kids on beaches
big animals within
kicking sand in their own faces
burying the poet’s head.
(makes me wonder about poets
who write sweetly of red roses)
When that insecure cougar
springs out from my rib cage
I too am freed to suffer
my singular oppression.
—Ed Coletti