| the mute poet scribes at his wit's end in simple phrases angularly non-linear hoping to touch in a divine moment as the words flow spontaneously. perhaps only to be included someday in a third rate anthology of a high school text on a whim assigned by a scab teacher in a class he hates drilling to sub par students some simplistic artistic in a society already meaninglessly complex where writers write for each other and critics write to be paid. but mostly as student i want to get laid i don't know why but to that dense one in an obliviously altered state so passing words scribbled in haste plagiarizing words scribbled in haste about misinterpreted desire read stumbling under unnoticed scrutiny now brining anticipation, confusion, anger at disrespect and insubordination comes imminent recrimination but not for content but by context. for here are words that shouldn't be they are insipid, ill-conceived at first glance which proves it all... our world has no place for simple words. |