my favorite poets
are the ones who understand
that they will likely never write anything
to match the power
of a gloriously welcome
stupid song
that has been poured
through a well-funded microphone
into a carefully crafted vessel
shaped to hold obvious longing
and sold through scrupulously fashioned outlets
to masses dying for something simple
that explains the obvious
better than they can
my favorite poets
realize that their job
is to work alone
in the wee hours
crafting a brew of the things
that don’t go down
quite so easily
so that they
(if they ever get the chance)
can slip what they’ve created
to those who don’t know what they’re missing
but who know they’re missing something
in their daily diet
in the hope that
when the work’s
been taken in
some number of those they’ve dosed
will say
"i don’t know what the hell it is about it
but it works for me
on me
through me
in me
and –son of a bitch!
— is me"

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