“The Isotope Remains”
The isotope remains—the poet, the element,
The precious gem—so reckoned in the raw,
So endemic to the lottery, the accidental draw
From which a this or that satisfaction in sentiment
Suggests addiction, defies abuse, or finds his way to hearts
And minds that think on distant destinations
As tools and vehicles that defy both procrastination
And rush delivery. The seer’s chants divorced from scenes, his arts
Will flourish with little pause to where the artist ground
His pigments or the siren purchases his precious stones.
Balanced even so, the unknown crews who violate borders all alone
To rape, to maim and pillage those whose labours’ fruits are found
Unguarded in the novice from inspiration leaches produce for philistines,
thieves of raw materials whether in the first or second person spaced;
No, the poet needs no acclamation, nor is the diamond’s progenitor effaced.