Blank Verse Poem by Frank Avon

The poems I compose in my head
are refusing to be plastered on paper,
or relegated to cyberspace;
they stop mid-verse and stare.

'I refuse to be committed, '
the poem says instead,
'to words. Word-wise
I'm all in your head.' That's all.

She is not whole.
She has no soul.
'My word, ' she said,
'I'm all in your head.'

In my head,
this is what I said,
and kept adding lines
all in a slow decline:

I am attached
to artifacts....

Today at Friends of the Library,
four books I bought....

Sixty-five of my years
I lived in 'the American century'....

You can't seduce poetry
from out of sheer prose.
Her eyes just roll.
'Ya gotta have soul.'