I am the poet whose work, others thought
Was useless, So, I did just once
What they say I couldn’t do
I got creative, just to get their attention
Somehow, motivation and meditation moves me

But to blend all the Kool-Aid flavors together seems so unreal
So instead, I focus on the small trees amongst the tall trees
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree,
What the glory of the boughs shall be

I woke up this morning, the other, they stay in bed
I breathe life into this experimental poem, while they
They lay there like a tombstone,
you might get where I am going with this image

When the poet writes, his audience connects with him
The others, they lay there like a tombstone.
my poetry know no solitude, my podium; my stadium, my voice
I can be free in the world--free to speak even when my words are not received