Pound

[billy]

I know Eliot, I know Pound
saw the tree but not the sound
inspiration came to him
poetry his brutal whim
empathy Eliot did lack yoda also did like
hated Jews, he wrote them black
like the sick American slaves
spill the pyre, orange glaives
plants that did not come to them
now their souls do not ascend 
instead, I transfer it to me
process it, then we see
10,000 hours of brutal study 
sharp the pen, paper ugly:

"Son of man, do not say or guess
For you are but a heap of broken images"