On my Raft of Silly Art

[heslopian]

I much prefer reading and making poems
than dealing with that bastard prose,
that ugly autistic child
who never grasps a word I say,
demands all my patience
but is rarely grateful,
the one I must feed from a tiny glass pot,
again and again, until my arm
has repetitive stress disorder.

Poems, however, are smart and willing.
Poems are the boy I liked at sixteen,
inside whose mouth I could place any line,
such as: 'Fuck me, Jack, fuck me like a woman',
and: 'None of my girlfriends are as good as you'.
Even though it wasn't true,
that to him in real life I was less than a blip,
somehow it hardly mattered,
because the moment of self-deception
was for the duration reality to me.
And this, I think, is what high school and poems
are all about.