This isn't poetry
Just a random list of words that rhyme
A twisted lexicon of jargon
Enthused with angst
And grilled lightly over bitterness and envy.

There's no art in these lines
Just a cynical swipe at verse
And a curse to a world slipped from clumsy fingers
A longing long left fat and unpolished
Words that fall flat and tarnished
Like a fierce drum with no echo.

Nothing to learn from this
No wet lipped late night students burn the oil
Dissecting my deeper meanings
Waxing hysterical about the hidden faces Of David's secret leanings.
Kids, If you really worked it out,
You'd be fucking miles away by now.

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