This is empty.
It is not words.
Don’t let it fool you.
It’s up to its tricks……..
And it’s ugly…….
Take a look!
Little symbols on a page.
Not artistic at all!
Graffiti is better
Especially when stenciled.
For it is a pattern, only a facsimile.
Upon a surface
This is not a room
Where women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
A rose isn’t necessarily a rose isn’t a rose necessarily
There are no eyes on me….and
Still I rise? Nope……I’m sitting down
This poem does not depend
On the red wheelbarrow
This poem is not at a station at the metro
Nor, is it going to be a Cantos
There will be no singing of the body electric!
No bee buzzing
And no bird chirping
Is going to happen here
This poem will kick
Out any attempt of alluding to something
Nor will it allude to nothing
That’s even worse
Metaphors are purely accidental
The events of this poem are fictitious
Any similarity to another poem
Living or dead is merely coincidental
If you are reading into this poem
You are on the wrong path
Go put on lipstick
Or do your nails
Check your internet dating service
You have messages there that are more poetic
Like walks on the beach
A crackling cozy fire,
There are poets on there that say….
“Pearl Jam, you too? I would have never guessed.”
Recite cereal ingredients
To someone you live with
Who’s in some other room, somewhere
In the house you live in.
Maybe there’s a good poem in the garage.
Under an oil can…… or
Next to that box with your 2007 tax returns
That’s time better spent.
Scratch your ass for all this poem cares
It’s not looking at you
Not yet, at any rate.
Maybe next time you read it
It will give you a discerning glance.
With its bland expression
With a telltale one eyebrow raised
Don’t think it means anything.
It might be looking at someone else instead
We poems have a way of doing that.
We’re just bitches.
Just thought I tell you the facts.