The paleo-poets pursue the day to put their books in print
like vampires stalk the night to brand the living dead,
to hold their trophies triumphantly in their hands,
to seize their fancy jackets and bend their spines
as the blood of trees drools down from their lips
and near-death print-presses are drained dry of ink,
to see them stacked like corpses in mausoleums
in the bookstores and libraries that the electro-poets pass by.
'paleo-poets'
ReplyDeleteThat is a great label. lol
I loved how you juxtaposed the old and the new. I really enjoyed reading this.
"as the blood of trees drools down their lips"....wow! Powerful image! Pretty cool poem.
ReplyDeleteI'm not a vampire person, LOL. But this was well written, Philip!
ReplyDeleteVery eerie and filled with fearsome images.
ReplyDeletewell done....the printed word and the electro world of poetry.....to have captured its contrasts and ironies well....bkm
ReplyDelete