by Charles P. Ries
(July 19th,, 2004)
Iíve read lots of poems:
        his girlfriends sex problems
        feathers growing out of a poodles butt
        the injustice of work
        the joys of drinking
        the curse of drugs
        the collapse of reason
All good themes for poetry.

I survey this landscape of metaphors, bitches,
confessions, rants and homageís from the height of my
poetís throne and think, "what kind of chattering
masturbations are these?"

I rise a bit taller and straighter and develop
a crusty attitude toward my fellow day trippers.
Indignation is often easier to master then
praise or appreciation.

At home, I lie down on my poetís couch,
(a big overstuffed bed filled with hot air and
chicken feathers) and I hit upon a snappy riff
and return to my poetís fantasy where
I imagine I have something special to say.
                        

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