On reading an interview with Alice Notley and gaining deeper insight as to the purpose of poetry…

Revenge of the Smashed Green

Self melting no
name making, boom
faking not liking,
loving crushing,
dwindle tops.
Ok was the word.
When I went in
everything stopped but
that’s OK, allright.

The philosopher said
there is no why, but
I said there’s hunger
for electricity, or a force
of nature.

Bring lettuce, bring
dozens of drinks, let go
of the ants they are so
small, out of sight
mostly. But then again
they return with thoughts
of their own.

Sunsets and skyscrapers.
Death in Gaza and consciousness
knows it. The da da daddy
of us all, the Mama
swinging in for a closer look.