07-05-2023, 07:34 AM
The Noble Beast
I know that writing this down
doesn't mean anything
or change anything.
Poetry is written by fools
for fools.
At best it is layman halfwitted
and at worst it a self-important word game.
But also, spooning half a bag of sugar
into cup of hot watery milk and coffee
and eating a pile of reheated chips
with a half bottle of Ketchup does
little for the soul—
nor does mowing lawns
or worrying about the wrong people
smoking the wrong cigarettes in the wrong places
or the stock market's ups
or the stock market's downs
or the stock market's gone fucked itself
or buying the week's shopping
or new cars or washing machines
or those invisible stains
or kicking a Biro into a 63 year old man's lip, ear,
or selling real-estate or height buys
or caging animals or humans
or emptying other people's rubbish
or certifying them "insane" and
filling their arms with detergent
or selling vaginal deodorant
or tooth picks or car wash or
catching dogs or gassing dogs.
No man can convince me
the tenure of these things
are exactly loaded with some nobility
or dignity.