Am I the only one
Who gets tired of these
Boring pathetic so-called
Poems that are nothing more
Than strings of unrelated lines
Only held together by
The claim of some sort of
Meaning…which isn’t there,
All backed up by stupendous
Near-God bull crap credentials
Which are but a mockery of
One’s inability to communicate
An actual thought?
Hell, my dog has papers, too.
Who gets tired of these
Boring pathetic so-called
Poems that are nothing more
Than strings of unrelated lines
Only held together by
The claim of some sort of
Meaning…which isn’t there,
All backed up by stupendous
Near-God bull crap credentials
Which are but a mockery of
One’s inability to communicate
An actual thought?
Hell, my dog has papers, too.
Daniel S. Irwin, native of Sparta, Illinois (St. Louis area east of the river not Chicago), has had work published in over one hundred magazines and literary journals world wide.
Author of nine books…some frequently seen at local church book burnings. Recent work can be found in/at Horror, Sleaze. Trash magazine, Beatnik Cowboy,
The Dope Fiend Daily and one here at The Rye Whiskey Review.
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