Blake, Keats, Emerson and Me

By Metacognizant

Romantic poets
had sex with god
loved his universe
and cringed at his sky
I am not romantic
about this calling
let me blow up
the creator's creators
Romantic poets
agonized over
assumptions to which
they held contradiction
I am not romantic
about the lines
that tumble headlong
into the sunlight
Romantic poets
came and went
out of the dry dust
and into the air
I am not romantic
but I am here
the sum of my parts
my organic sight

Where the Sidewalk Ends	On leaving some friends at an early hour	Maxims of Emerson	I'm no Whitman...
romantic	God	In a drear-nighted December