Have you seen themTHEMcircumventing in the corner of the living
room-the artsy, fartsy, crowd-gasping for breath, agonizing over artistic
alignment
Give me the grit, the dogma from Hell, which scans from bar to barfrom
quiet death to quiet death
Let the bones of the poetic speakers rattle in the catacombs of shametheir
agony is eternal indeed-but they sing the same old songthe same
old lines about emotional scars, which fail to heal,
Common man hides pain better than the poet does; bits and pieces die each
day
Each longing day
So, as academia launches its useless jargon-providing constant analysis over
every written line and phrase
Toast the loner, whose hands shake as he struggles to grip the penshacked
up in
a dying room with a dying bottle
He praises the day because he has survived
Again
Dan Provost's poetry has been published in numerous e-zines and poetry mags.
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