|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.