Ars(e) Poetica

Poets, Christ! The bulk of them should be
Thrown into kilns, I think. I see them stop
And sniff the air. I watch them put such
Fluff upon their pages. Such is poetry,
They tell me. It may speak, but doesn't
Ever have to say a thing. It hints at such
Profundity. It humors literary types, whose
Minds lack tracks for trains of thought. It's
Gotten to be like some skill which only
Idiots are taught. All normal people
Look away, embarrassed. Poets once told
Stories. Now, they babble at the moon
And shake their metal cups.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 75 times
Written on 2015-09-03 at 00:29

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