The Function Of Poetry.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

i am that impatient
reading your poem about
a foot long but not to
disappoint you as you
spent hours and perhaps
a week writing it carefully
choosing the words which
sound alike at the end
of a phrase, and counting
each syllable to really make
a fit like the way masons
make a brick house i browse
over them in your presence
and read everything there
aloud only to see you crying
and then sobbing and then
taking pity on yourself and
then saying that you wish you
were never born and that
you have those who put you
here and you still do not know
if God exists and i stop right
there and bluntly tell you to
stop writing because you
are in effect have become so
disconnected and i pretty think
that it is not the function of
poetry to kill you.

i invited you outside to
see the full moon, feel the
cool night breeze and hear
the giggling lovers happily
enjoying each other's company
along the beach.