for the Missouri Ma'am, a reminder, for the "show me" lady,
who should know better than
like a novice lawyer,
never ask a question,
the question,
you don't want to
know the answer to...
struggling for months to answer truly
your Aristotelian query,
from now over a year ago:
who the hell writes poems like this...?
the older early answers are writ in another place, three, four drafts,
by another's face, and another hand, curdled and burdensome,
none to ever see complete-shun
now I believe, those early answers provided are out of sync,
life is messy and stressy and my pre-pubescent, precipitously yet
carefully considered, visionary imaginary invisibles, naive,
now comes similar, like this piece, which sat down and wrote
in a minute, charging myself a lot,
mostly the costly breathing the stupid from a failure stench,
whose face is locked into a grimace
without missing a heartbeat,
messy and stressy,
fully forged, seeing a head ahead,
breathing out the fire of the dying dragon who does not,
give no longer giveth a good *******
see the man on the street, the man,
lying on the street whose cardboard sign says:
for two bucks,
will write you a commemorative,
custom tailored for the occasion, name and season,
no waiting, done in five minutes
four lines $2
eight lines $4
(obits cost more)
who the hell writes poems like this...?
the sad angry ***** *** on the concrete,
who stinks from
overuse and misuse,
everybody's fave faun, now gone,
now writing *****
for a living dying
now, that's who writes poems like this!
ask him nothing, and he will rhyme it for you, child,
the prior life, previous name, the perchance poems, ah, who cares...
just don't ask a question, that you may not want to know
the answer
