Ridiculous

 I haven't been able to write any poetry 

because everyone dies 

but not like this! not like this!

and am hemmed in by the thought lives

of lovers who're blithely conversing

in whispered opinions that thud tremendously 

past my brain to my heart, my heart!

My bleeding heart, since when were bleeding hearts disdainful?

out my mouth words of protest at indignities

out his mouth accusing me of parroting

Cracker!? Polly?! Pretti!? So what if I am parrotting

could it be that I am not a beaked thing 

but a mirror held up and saying 

look at this fearful disregard for each other 

breeding in the dark wet stalls of our mutual mind