Poets don’t go to
heaven or hell
they stay in purgatory
in the twilight
of Earth’s domain.
To bring living poets to madness–
reciting sublime lines in their sleep;
then forgetting them when they wake up.
Or while driving their cars on errands and never
remembering that beautiful saying
Dante wrote about
it in terza rima:
How poet’s when they die are gathered
into the bosom of the poet’s den;
each bringing their expertise—
how beautiful it was to be alive!