Overconfident Essayist

Let me tell you,
the world is this way and
this is what you should do.
When I say it in a poem,
its irony bends under slight
scrutiny, its steel melts 
when glazed words play
donut on the sprinkles.
When I am struck by 
the urge to paragraph
and thus do so
it carries my free weight
a hundred and sixty some
pounded sandbags
in front of a flood
that a mountain wouldn't stanch.
Here, between you and I,
when we are poet and poetry-
affected (if I may be so 
affected), conversation strikes
cold yellow matches 
out above the plate
covered in candles and axes
and we grind the dim plight
that reasons with wispy diction.

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