A Slightly Longer Version of A Short Poem About Poetry

I wrote the first few stanzas of this poem a few days ago.  You can read the prior version as the immediately preceding entry on my blog.  And I just couldn't leave well enough alone.  This afternoon I added a few more stanzas as you'll see below, for better or worse I have no idea... 

It's not so much

A matter of trochees

Or synedoche

Not that they're

Inconsequential

But my primary

Concern is how a poem

Sounds when it falls

Upon the inner ear

Whether composed

While walking the dogs

Around the block

Or at home alone

With Artie Shaw

In the background

For me

Words unspoken

By the breath

Carry the purest

Possible sound

That can be best

Understood only after

Writing them down

And the task for

Any true poet

Remains ever

The same --

To capture and

Apply simple truths

Across the broadest

Possible frontier

As one or two

Contradictions

Will almost always suffice

To preoccupy even

The most aesthetically

Afflicted human spirit

Whether it’s a great big
Bearded Literatus

Like Whitman

Or a sickly neurasthenic

Like Proust