Classical poetry was a symphony
A ballet where every movement was timed
And every word knew it’s place
Modern poetry is a free for all
A rock concert with stage-divers
And mosh pits, breaking out in the crowds
Inevitably, someone in the stands lights a fire
And starts throwing chairs into it,
Claiming it is part of the poem
Feedback blasts all over the place
Instruments are smashed to bits on stage
And rioting and the looting
Are likewise part of the poem
So is the streaking
And the sex out in the open
While the conductors baton is rising and falling
To this new music made without a sound