what this poet needs

a rondeau: I admit no contridiction

what this poet needs is light,
peanuts enough to last the night
some way to make my time increase
and bed—to find my sleep release
all this would keep my language bright

a dancing crowd to feed my sight,
a rush of sound for my delight,
then golden silence, perfect peace
what this poet needs

bring in the world, a kiss, a fight,
be overwrought, be impolite,
shut out the world, let sound decrease
and never mention my caprice
as I gather in—to write
what this poet needs