When did poetry become an intellectual exercise? (unfinished)

When did poetry become an intellectual exercise?

Was it the gradual asphyxiation of my breathing 

that kept the flow of energy in my head

and bounce around like an echo chamber?

I need to feel the truth of the matter. 

Not perceive, not fact-check,

not analyze, not compare,

not contrast, not coat with irony,

not advocate, not juxtapose, 

not reference, not entitle.

And instead, follow the suggestions

of my body to walk and talk 

from a primal alignment and be quiet 

unless moved

otherwise. Everything else 

is the story in my head of wanting.

Between fear of losing and fear of not attaining

can I strip it all to feel myself again?