What I See Online

I’m looking at all these poets these days;

The ones who talk shit, or never rhyme, and is that

What’s become of writing?

What’s wrong with rhyming? I don’t see the problem

In being clever with some fucking rhythm,

Not everything is a skewed prism,

One angle, one view,

Connected by a faint light

Glowing through one set of eyes.

I didn’t go to college. I didn’t bother to deal that way.

I stuck around in the dregs

Playing music on shitty stages, for little dough,

And long nights, since nearly ten years ago.

Now I’m older, and the twilight of this young man’s life

Is setting in. I don’t sleep well, I don’t have the speed

Of someone pushing against the train,

But I take my time and show them all what method can do

When it’s worked out in front of busy brains.

These days most everyone is buried in their phones;

Their beady eyes scrolling, their fat cheeks glowing

In a stock still position,

And I wish a car would reel from the street sometime

And smack some reality back into them.

A limb here, a shirt there,

And then everyone would blog about it,

Or send their friends a fucking snapchat

Of the mayhem on a Tuesday night.