My favourite poet

[jurisprudent]

My favourite poet
Is one who speaks in degraded fashion
Of smashed universes lit by candlelight
Of dwindling hopes and emotions

My favourite poet smashed a window to paint with broken glass
A circle of desires upheld by swallows clad in rubies and sapphires

My favourite poet spoke a language only an Atlantian could have known
In the golden age of their perished civilization

My favourite poet could be a Neruda apprentice
Or
A paper boy to Villon for a gallows pole sonnet
Or
A detective on a quest to shadow Baudelaire’s or Rimbaud’s use of words
And
Could sit on a bench in St Paul’s Cathedral by Eliot’s side
Exchanging thoughts on cats, wastelands and cathedrals
So
That he could investigate a pile of skulls in Third Rome’s lands:
Look at Mayakovsky’s shot one
And here Esenin’s body is hanged
And Pasternak's grave who suffered no violent death
Except for the death toll of his poet’s tortured soul
And
Would write down cummings’s words in a row distracted by illogical logic
And tell the universe of his own existence like Whitman’s
Larger than anything ode of all which is and that exists
Or
Would play hide and seek of alter egos by Tejo with Ricardo Reis and his real life self
Or
Caress Yeats's desperate, confused and deafened falcon
And
Yes I remember you my Lord Byron fear not I missed you in this cavalcade of names

So my favourite poet is aboard a ship
Sinking
Rising
On the waves of cruel life
Hiding beneath its waves
Beauty and horror
Nobody would detect
Unless my favourite poet
Breaks a frame (outer and inner) to unleash
A beautifully monstrous
Monstrously beautiful
Spirit unto this world.