I FEAR

I FEAR

I fear your poem
is all too
well-honed,
pristine, elegant and
refined, allusively rich,
painstakingly polished,
well made,
            second guessed,
overdone

something minor TS Eliot
wrote
       far from the heart

spills out
        as interest  dances
off the tongue

I am
   afraid I should love this
as mark of my measure but
the beast of
an appetite
              argues
not to my taste, outrageously
negative

insists what you have preferred
here within my right to refuse

and so
     like me float with these words
follow like a
steadicam
    this thing without edge
me now
most like balloon

oh how is it
      what is it
I missed that day
I bunked poetics
that has rendered me
such a fool

nothing I might imagine
no one I know
      more alien in aspect
to what
you do present

flouncy, fleecy,
veritable
       breath of the gods

scanning your topography
that pen indeed
touched paper

hard
     to accept