Who even much cares for
rudimentary road maps and hackery
imported from the minds of drudgenous drones?
Refinement falls to the critics, does it?
You put something out and get an issue in return,
to be repeated ad infinitum
for the good of the paying public
and the pauper poet.
Filth–
perpetrated by years of aching bellies
and glowering doom receptacles
we’ve come to know as the media–
you, Filth, are responsible
for the illiterate cauldronful of bubbling babblers
that belittle each other every chance they get.
Reblogged this on | Escaping Mountains .:. poetry re-inspired .:. | and commented:
A NaPoWriMo Poem by my friend! :)
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