what is poetry anymore/is it this? /
a parade of words/blank ants
crawling across the page/in
a series of condensed/paragraphs.
where i can read/with ease
yet wonderment/at the dreary
ludicrousness/of the universe
i can marvel/i can dream
what does it do/ it intoxicates
me/and stuns me/ with its sweet words
and leaves me/ breathless/
in a mist of white cold.
and so useless/
the more i start to think/
the less i start to understand.