The poet lives or dies by words.

But not just any words,

not the most convenient words

plucked from the air,

haphazardly.

For since a poem is a picture

painted with words,

they must be crystalline,

making clear for the reader

exactly what the poet sees.

Not merely “blue”

when only “turquoise” will do.

Not simply “chair”,

rather,

“frayed recliner”.

Not “comfortable”,

but,

“An inviting Victorian love-seat,

plush and seductive,

waiting to be crushed in consumation.”

Not “deadly”.

Rather,

“electric”.