no poem is free of its words

poets rarely find that one poem
that captures the transcendent essence of a moment
and when you read them you realize that
despite some flashes of brilliance
most of their work is bullshit

we can rarely write what we want to write
and we can say even less what we want to say
words are clumsy constructs that try and represent life
to bring it into some kind of semantic structure
but life has a language and structure all its own
and the fit is always inaccurate, loose, unsatisfying
bits are saggy, others too tight, corners are left uncovered
while others are smothered and unnecessarily intricate

the poet is also an ill fit for life
seeing too much at such a close range
he finds so much to share and say
so much of the universal in the particular
but in the end every poet realizes
that life prefers to remain silent
and that despite some lucky breaks
words are thrown at life in vain

sometimes the words fit better
their rhythm somehow synchs with things
and others can see like us too
through those same words
like a sudden clearing through cloudy skies

but that is rare

every poem is an attempt at a magical transcendence
but no poem has ever broken free of its words.