Why I Sometimes Write in Form

The Cage

Exhibit A: Stand back as it rolls in,
and leave the curtain on it. Some suspense
is called for—you’ll agree. And please excuse 
all moms and children under 23.

Some caring types may call this selfish, cruel:
”Imprisoning the tender philomel!” 
But it’s just for the moment. Later on,
we’ll leave its door ajar and run like hell.

All those who think this fauna’s better seen
in nature never saw it kill, or eat.
When spotted through binoculars, it’s still
a sight that makes you conscious of your feet.

So few can say they’ve seen the thing up close
enough to meet its eye and slowly blink
in stupid awe. Yes—we are merely food.
It lives on blood. Its habitat’s the brink.

Now see these lines that let us all draw near
and gasp: a wholly new frisson to feel
with every heated chuff of its wild breath,
so close. We’re safe, because these bars are steel,

without the pretty curves and filigree
of those ridiculous things old ladies fill
with fake silk flowers. This is serious.
Hephaestus is the father of this thrill.

Now, then—its voice. Get close enough to hear.
Exquisite... Listen. Calling through the years,
pedantic tick and tock of metronome
or something like the very song of spheres.