This is a Poem
because it rhymes.
The muse’s threads have woven them
where nothing else but sorrow survives.

This is a Poem.
as old and as true as the sky.
Words from muses below them
let no others survive.

A very Generic Poem
as Generic as untoasted bread.
As low as where the ships stow them
spun just as blankets from a thread.

A very plain Poem
as plain as a white piece of paper.
As potatoes in the gardens that grow them
the trowels extend with their taper.

A substantially unimportant Poem
as substantially unimportant as a fruit fly
as the Marine’s obstacles that slow them
as the silent pained one’s mute cry.

This poem means nothing.
It doesn’t even have to rhyme.
As long as it is cutting
it will remain till the end of time