He's an important chap
A fellow's fellow
Dressed all in black
And plays the cello
Writes lyrics on serviettes
Dates only banjo players
Wrote a chap-book way back
About his time in Minsk
And has an imaginary Raven named Slayer
Yet I've yet to meet him
Yet I'm always in his presence
I've been told he's the bees knees
But I just haven't seen it yet
WHEN IS HIS NEXT OPEN MIC, PLEASE?
WHEN CAN I SEE HIM IN THE FLESH?
IS HE READING WIDELY?
IS HE CREATING PROLIFICALLY?
IS HE WISE; WISER THAN HIS CONTEMPORARIES?
No need for the answers
Probably the wrong questions
But they are trotted out anyway
In zeens zines or whatever you call them
Does he write the confessional? the epic?
Is he a man out of time? on self destructive terms?
My friend says I should read his work
But I'm afraid I might plagiarize him whole
The establishment don't care for him
Society doesn't understand him
Because he's a one off, doncha know?
My friend's friend is a poet's poet
But my friend hasn't actually met him
Which is just as well
As the poet's poet
Is actually me
Or one of my pseudonym's at least
I side of me I don't like to see
Yet I flaunt it vicariously
No comments:
Post a Comment