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I was told once that free-verse was a fool's exercise
by a fool woman without the eyes to see
beyond the cutesy bullshit end rhyme of my contemporaries
blind to the P.S. scribed in the flesh of wrists
and poems etched into shovel heads by the bones of a skull
who paid split lip service to the idea of equality
and divided the souls of each group passing under her care
why did I have to write poems?
why couldn't I be like every other guy and say that poetry was for fags?
or if I was going to write, at least make it rhyme
but the souls of man kind do not rhyme
or jive with the rhythmic enterprise of meter
unless they are the un-genuine hard-crafted soulless lines
of those that began to compose for a school project
that pay split lip service to the true poets
that listen to Aesop and Sage slam spoken word over beats
that read Andrea Gibson but never really understand
and attempt to make their souls unrhyme
phony free-versers without passion in their lines
paying split lip service to the masters of incoherent coherent verse
But I am and always have been
a whiny little fuck that only throws word to page
so he can shut his brain up and sleep at night
that bitches about the falseness of his fellow "artists"
a one in one-hundred-thousand brain tumour of idealism
concerned only with preserving the realism
that pays split lip service to the god of free-verse