Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I cannot write about sublime things
all the sublime things have followed
the mist down the path where the stars go
I cannot write about mundane things
all the mundane things have teased
the profound and the profane
I cannot white about arcane things
all the arcane things have been
having a ball in the museum of myth
I cannot write about all the lost loves
and their endless plucked forget-me-nots
I cannot write about the poets in the trenches
the ones that write about the battlefield
littered with the dead cream of youth
I cannot write about the initiation
of the blood of the poet, the flower of the explosion
or the flowers of evil, Baudelaire has already
done that beyond my wildest dreams
I cannot write about the painters of beautiful women
they would be Picasso and I would be Picasso
but alas only Picasso is Picasso
I cannot write about silence I can only write
about the lack of noise or the last symphony
of the slow disaster of clashing symbols
of cymbals, I cannot write about bread
and wine and fiery oaths, and gypsy talk
in the forever night, I'm nothing but the
road that the caravans roll on, I'm the
reader of newspapers of the absurd
the page turned of Communist manifestos
and colossal creeds of crumbs and spilled ink
I cannot write about the secret thoughts
of great thinkers and drunken bums
, poetry would be end
of secret thoughts
and the beginning
of what it is we, cannot write poetry about

bravo
(how can i write about what you can't write about any better than you've written about it?)

poetry speaks in mysterious ways?