Tangible

I've made this chair for you, my friend.
It's basic, surely, maybe crude, but
Its stout wooden legs will keep your
Ass above the floor, and that is what
They're meant to do. I practice craft.
I'm not an artist. What I make I mean
To have you use. A thing should have
A use, so take this chair into the room
Where all those other poets babble out
Their atmospheric art, their strings of
Unrelated words, which, they assure
You, must mean something deeper
Than coherence would, and seat
Yourself upon it. Once the gusts the
Self-appointed artists stir have calmed,
You'll see it still is here to hold your ass.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 15 times
Written on 2012-02-12 at 14:39

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text