Poetry isn’t for slow, ignorant masses
Poisonous coincidental synergy
It is what’s left over after
Philosophy goes ten brutal rounds with music
Forces hair-split decision
Fair language caught in drunken brawl
Careless, juxtaposed catalysts
Coy words contrived to hypnotize
The unwary.

Poetry’s an etymological challenge
Dangerous intellectual opiate
A seminal intoxicant
Best handled by acolytes able to follow
Gray, back alley phrases through
Impudent, linguistic pub crawl
Heeding discomposed alchemist’s
Uncanny references to
Quick silver schemes.

Poetry’s a cheat, cheap magician’s trick.
It’s not to be trusted to serious matters.
Is it?
It’s not a true art, like the novelist’s, so told;
Poetry’s sophistry with a bullet.