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Apologia 
This poem 
does not need 
to march 
across 
the page. 
This poem 
is free 
to lean 
and limp 
and lurch 
and tap the 
ground. 
                     This poem will just be 
here, 
       as it claims 
                      a place 
                             on this 
                          page, in this 
              space, in this rolling, 
                          stumbling, 
stuttering, 
             blinking, 
                     fresh and stinking 
                                         world of great 
                                pain 
and promise: 
             this poem 
                          does not explain 
                                          its shape, 
its struggles, 
if you like, 
its joys. 
and that 
Explain yourself, 
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