Doctrine Poem by Stug Jordan

In the end she tried to say
that the best poetry
was like a line
of perfect symmetry.

And they believed
everything she said;
they took her food
and gave her a bed

in the dusty attic.
Come down they would plead,
every time
that she was needed

to clear up some
troublesome point of view.
She watered them
with words and they grew.

And she tried to say
that they were hers;
like a faithful line
of heaven-bound passengers.

And when the words
came from her lips
they measured them
and laid their manuscripts

at her feet like flowers.
Until she began to bend,
the line deficient,
the beginning of the end.