Poetry: Right Brain

I am going to write a poem. I am so tired of topic sentences, Supported by details, Restated in conclusions. I don’t need prose. Blocks of black syllables, Linked by transitional devices, Indented neatly, Three to a page, Depress me. I need a poem. Not rhymed or in pentameter, Snooty sonnets or cutesy cinquains, No ostentatious villanelles, But free verse Winging to heights invisible Then dropping, dipping, drowning, Now reviving And soaring high again. I will not use binder paper. This poem will be torn from my life. And the paper will be creased, Ragged at the edges. It will not need a title or a date; Nor, in the upper right hand corner, Will it need my name.