Here's another one.
It's called "In the Augean Barn".
It's really a poem about writing poetry.
The Augean stable, of course, was one of Hercules' labors.
It was a barn that was so huge that, by the time
you cleaned out one end of it, the other end
was filled with shit again.
And no one had ever been able to clean it,
and Hercules was ordered to clean it,
and he figured out a way to clean it, he diverted a river
and ran it through the barn.
But you can't quite do that with poetry writing,
so this is my answer.
"In the Augean Barn".
Drenched, dry, drenched again, dry again,
trench of liquidish shit, piss-sopping straw,
scribble and scrawl, blot and erase,
drenched, dry, smudge and crumple,
drenched again, yet felicity in it still,
in the reek of unconfidence even.
The chemical fetor, ammoniac, retching fear of failure.
Poetry soup, poetry slime.
Gag and garbage of mimed metaphor and manure.
Simile slime, no river gush to unbank, no divinitied hero
to help me, only the laboring beast to labor behind.
Ineradicable dung.
Poetry love, poetry slime.