Still writing poetry for the masses
only the masses do not seem to care
for poetry, only stock-car racing and
creamies and wrastling on Friday Night
Smack-Down and, oh yes, smack too
some of them, ones with pictures in the
local rag newspaper; fresh-faced, twenty-two
forever, dying unexpectedly…Move a hell of
a lot more drugs and guns than poetry in
this town.