When words will matter as nothing does

Some Poets' Words

 
Some poets’ words imbed in concrete
Some hewn in would, or spewed in blood
Are just cliché enough for walking over
 
No prescience from their trite run-ons
Except for thought bubbles, uttered as
We scrape and shovel them in lines
 
I could write a thousand poems more deft
And never see one typed into proud slabs
Or scribbled on banana peels, tossed in my grave
 
You could write forever in the ice, fierce
And lonely tongue, yet never see the street
Light your arrogant and beautiful remark
 
We could scrawl all night on the Great Sphinx
with hip-hop paint and CNN, and the words
would wash away; we’d post bail in gineih
 
Once you see the Jesus Christ Lizard
Dance across a rio like Fred Astaire
Its ripples dissipate quicker than you or I
 
Only then can you cure concrete envy
When all poems sweep into the sea
Or space beyond--the weight of walks
 
Their pounds will be replaced by calm
Pouring buoyant on the entrails of clocks
When words will matter as nothing does