American poetry belongs to a subculture. No longer part
of the mainstream of artistic and intellectual life,
it has become the specialized occupation of a relatively
small and isolated group.
-Dana Gioia

I am alone.
I lie next to stone

a man writes in the notebook he takes everywhere
in jail, a boy really,
this shy, earnest twenty-two-year-old
who never seems comfortable
sitting---as if he's not yet used to the large, gangly body
that's grown around him.

You've got to believe me.
I never before lifted a hand to anyone. Never.

Now he goes nowhere without paper and pen,
rhymes everything. Everything
is a sonnet. He likes to hear the couplet
click shut like a door
only he has keys for. He listens for the final word,
its prompt and perfect justice.

I am alone.
I lie down next to stone.

From Cell Count by Chris Bursk, Texas Tech University Press, 1997. Originally appeared in Poetry. Copyright Chris Bursk, 1997. Used by permission of the poet and Texas Tech University Press.