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


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