MEETING

The poem arrives first
So defined it's shadow
Could be weighed on a scale.
It’s an important poem,
Or thinks it is.
It fidgets, shoots long cuffs,
Looks at its gold watch,
Shrugs and lights a cigarette.
The poet slowly coheres
From the bluish smoke;
The glance he gives

Is not a friendly one.

DRAFT

If you're an emperor you must
Learn to wear your nakedness
Casually, pulling it around you,
Lifting your heels slightly
To avoid tripping on the cuffs.
Loneliness and rags are watching.