the poets

I must not push my luck.
confidence is great but so is struggle.
ever heard of the caged man learning the face of God?

look at the white mess of the page as a human
creates art and the creatures live
not wanting any of it

but poets are the measles in the crowd. let them
try to bring the words. let them try. let them try.
they could of been a firemen or
a mindless rat fighting a war somewhere.
but
no no! not a poet.
the poets are all emotional babies licking their wounds, man.
they're cowards turning tears into
words.

bunch'a whinos.

who would want to read anything like that?