A poet becomes, when a poet finds the world
outside, unsatisfactory. Not to inspire that world,
be drawing attention to themselves, to be inspired
or proven wrong. Not admitting it’s true love that
they all want. Children to life. Slaves to reality.
Caged in desirous love. Limited in art creation.
Do not render to poets for anything. Live life.
There is only one of those. (When my face got
cut up, I got told that God don’t like ugly. So
every night, I go to sleep with a pistol in my hand.
And one open, just like the Masons. Don't feed into
the world.)