Every Tom, *ick and Harry is a poet these days,
requesting feedback on their craft.
I just read another and truthfully:
Hideousness on a higher plain.
gibberish and infantile babbling.
what i mean is poppycock and drivel
failed attempt to harness moot obscure
ten dollar words only suitable for flim flaming
scrabble opponets.
forced. hammering a square peg
into a round hole
'fingernails on a chalkboard" when spoken
lingering foul aftertaste
root canals or catching my manhood in my zipper
is more enjoyable
perhaps it lost meaning in translation
or still needs to be decoded.
My good mood was violated and my whole psyche
was 'out of whack' after reading it.
Whaddya' think (asks the brainchild)
I know its probably not very good because i scribbled it on a napkin with lipstick and its not really finished.....etc. so on and so forth yak blab yakkety blab.......
I must wear my kid gloves while biting my tongue and pulling punches,
my cruel critique cuts to the bone.
He looks at me with a face starving for kudos
and validation
So i exclaim a candy coated "Atta Boy!"
-Santacruz-
