I am tired of poor perspectives,
of the hues that abuse the views
of abstract paths and messed up avenues.

I am tired of prior cues,
signal that set poets on cruise
as the roads roll up
like the broken blunt
used to burn through
the black and soulful blues.

I am tired of the cutsie fluff
that distracts us from the stuff
we should be paying attention to.

But mostly I am tired of
the muffled muse I once used
being stretched and torn
to make other artists conform
to the boring norm
of trying to sale things
we don’t need.