THIS POEM IS
GOING TO BE
LEGENDARY
Like the wordsmith’s
of yesteryear quoted
for reminders of why
we avoid the bar
Like a misfit whose
suicidal ideation
echos the frustrations
and tranquilizes in
a sense of mindfulness
to the ever evolving
common man
Like a delicate
desert rose
on a formulaic
card from
someone
your
suppose
to know
it will provoke
the mind
Like the wrarm glow
of a kiss and
Tender ethos
of dynamite
It will outwit
And outwise
And outplay
And outfuck
the drunkards
and
the
academics
of which I am neither
I
have little in common
with the greats of the past
other than our shared skillsets
in acquiring poverty
Yet this poem will be legendary
And like a lullaby made of candy coated
steam engines bloating the nerves to your heart
It will look at you and say to you
Two words you must always remember
A message you will softly shout to you
Yet what kind of
self-absorbed prick would call his own poem legendary
The two words better be really
damn good
They better thrash
And trash
And bubble through the collective human regrets
They better alter ideations
And cast away iterations
Of all that is everything that has ever stood
In our way
Yet what makes
this prose legendary
is not the scribe
or the scribbles
It is in fact, the hidden subject matter
Who is currently absorbing these very syllables
As that which could prove legendary
Is in fact, the reader
and the two words in question?
Keep shining.