One of the things I can’t stand
are poems.
That break
off the line for no real reason.
If it were to rhyme,
that’d be fine,
we’d all get by.
But no. Now
poetry is like this, which doesn’t
flow,
flow,
flow,
for any reason.
It’s the same feeling as listening to “music” from artists
which all sounds
the same.
The same reprocessed junk
labelled
a masterpiece;
by the snake tongued producers
who just want to
make money.
O!
I pause
to think of how,
nay verily, why,
poets think that this,
this,
this,
is acceptable.
To waste paper, trees, rainforests, lives, time,
while people,
politely
read
and try to comprehend
the tangle
of
words,
indecipherable to man.
We can’t
(any of us)
understand.
So we all nod in amazement
and call
it
art.
Summer 2014
