20130807.2100

I wrote
In a blog
That "I feel strangely Whitmanesque."
I am forced to wonder
If there is any other way to feel
Whitmanesque
Than strangely.
For as the poet
Celebrates and sings himself,
His melody shifts in scale and intonation,
His rhythm changing from measure to measure
Erratically,
And neither lends itself to the normal,
The placid,
The expected,
The comfortable.
My own writing does the same.
Even now, I follow no clear meter,
But veer arrhythmically
From line to line.
I may do better about sticking to one theme, though,
Despite failing in variations on it.
I never was that good a musician.
Fortunately, there are other arts.