To Poetry

Don’t desert me
just because I stayed up last night
watching The Lost Weekend.

I know I’ve spent too much timepraising your naked body to strangers
and gossiping about lovers you betrayed.

I’ve stalked you in foreign citiesand followed your far-flung movements,
pretending I could describe you.

Forgive me for getting jacked on coffeeand obsessing over your features
year after jittery year.

I’m sorry for handing you a lineand typing you on a screen,
but don’t let me suffer in silence.

Does anyone still invoke the Muse,string a wooden lyre for Apollo,
or try to saddle up Pegasus?

Winged horse, heavenly god or goddess,
indifferent entity, secret code, stored magic,
pleasance and half wonder, hell,

I have loved you my entire lifewithout even knowing what you are
or how—please help me—to find you.

grutzworks3