Why I Stopped Writing Poetry

I stopped writing.
Stopped putting pen to paper
Stopped listening to the raindrops of my soul
Because the paper was too bright,
Ink was too dark, the contrast
Harmonized with nothing and created
Rivulets of discord, raining down in space
And time.

I stopped because the shift became
Too strong and the words became
Like jello underfoot, melted into
A simple pot of pentameter
That I wanted to walk away from
Before it consumed me.

I wanted to get away from all the
Weirdness and all of the poets
Become something real and stagnant
And valuable in the world,

Not floating from tree to trainwreck
Pontificating softly on the dew-down
On the nape of my lover’s neck.