poetics

easy, it isn't,
peeling off layers,
"waxing poetic"
about love and life,
following the critics'
acceptable aesthetic;
as I once wrote,
"unscrew you with a hatful of bananas"
like what you think
really fucking matters:
if I move my readers,
and as a writer, grow,
wtf is your opinion worth,
win, place, or show?
I rhyme too much,
that was long ago leveled,
but as Byron long ago knew,
such a corner, finely beveled,
would be lost on the likes of you:
"Sir, I will agree with your general rule,
That every poet is a fool;
But you, yourself, may serve to show it:
Every fool is not a poet."
amen.



November 11, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.