What is poetry for?
I'm talking about
a cliche question
an overbeaten line.
The quest for meaning
and purpose in poetry
can only have heavy
whipping cream
in its whisky vibrations.
It's fatty and drunk enough
to be a younger me
at a sake-damp sushi bar
in a Manhattan basement
or a hillside Seattle dusk
with salmon collar and skin.
What is meaning for?
Purpose for?
These questions roost
on the wires
encouraging electricity
to keep flowing
from a fire
to a home.