Sing Muse
Homer wrote these words down,
He did it in greek,
Setting precedent we all work around
Its in the air we breathe, every thought we think
That our words matter to you now,
Standing up here in front of a crowd
Its all just masturbation, I’m here
For the applause, how about you?
This carpal tunnel’s drained me dry
So I figured I might as well try
To make some rhymes in verse,
Let me tell you, I’ve heard worse
Highschool threapeautic poets with easy rhyme,
Talk of dark torture and pain, every time
I hear such things I want to shoot myself.
Appealing the crowd for praise and gentle word
But they need to put their notebooks on a shelf
And go out into the world.
I keep saying that there’s more poetry than can be read,
Because really, everything’s already been said.
Yet I sit here telling you what I know,
I’m just here for the poetry groupies and free blow.
To repeat the laments of those who have gone before me
This devine madness cannot be sought,
Not in this century, this decade, these aughts.
Beautiful verses rightly wrought
Hinterlands
This is no country for old men
The falcon cannot hear the falconer, the center cannot hold
The second coming is amongst us…
Write of love, nature and god, but why do we write
To be in little magazines, to inhabit
Lost addresses in cyberspace?
Homer never existed. Do we?
I have seen the best minds of my generation,
Go down on themselves without coming
Up for air, and choking to death on
Their own pleasure. Gelatinous
Goo draining down their trachea
Drowning in their own semenm
And looking up, waiting for
The applause…
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