I don't like the poets I don't get.
The BS is thick, so the common folk won't take the time to understand.
The tidy anti-intellectual class wants burgers and guns and idols like us
who make the TV a place we could take over,
on the way to moneydom.
Who gives a flip if I write a poem worth a blog,
or an anthology book,
or a coffeehouse nook.
Just give me the coffee, for Christ's sake,
and I'll read the New Yorker, page 52,
and snivel. That one, I got.
I love this one!
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