The poetry on this site literally gives me a migraine. For a place where good poetry thrives on good critique, go to http://poetry.tetto.org/.
Try this:
Scheherazade
by Richard Siken
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it's more like a song playing on a policeman's radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could