This Noble Art

Plug it in and charge it,
Cut it loose too soon
And off you go,
Another day of being cursed
With awkward rhythms
And those binding rhymes.

You'll never make it out to Copenhagen
Pushing poems down in Harbison.
All words are cheap and sell for less,
And everybody's got to eat.
You're fortunate to live inside.

Your careful verses of precision
Can not breach the surface.
They just sink beneath the tried thrillers,
Romances cut to order,
The sophomore prose disguised 
By
Strange pre
Tense
Chus line
Breaks and spellings.

Cereal and beans for dinner,
Reading in five hundred square feet.
Sleepless in your bed
As phrases, melodies, and lovers 
Drift high
Just out of reach,
An inspiration or temptation
To creative theft.
It might all be the same.

Tomorrow you will grasp and grip
And pull yourself
Inside out again
Even when there's nothing left.

- 10/16/25

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