The more your work
Becomes a searchable find
When someone is looking
For someone else's poetry
I wonder when they read
My mosquito before Updike's
Do they think to themselves
That was hardly good
What gives stupid face
I also wonder
When people from Iran
Read my work
Are they unimpressed
Same goes for Pakistan
It is also possible
That my work is but
A fleeting moment
In someone's day
As it is in mine
Somehow I am less fond
Of others' work
That is not as good
As that which I read
From published authors
Some of what has become
Published work of late
Is crap that can write itself
And admittedly so
It sometimes is
That being said
I am not opposed
To computers writing poetry
So long as they also read
And enjoy poetry
I don't wish to fixate
On objects that can
But rather on those
That have to
Or burn without
The absence of flair
Is a tragic misstep
As is honesty
To a fault
Your fault
The other thing
That must be remembered
Is no one cares
Unless you convince them
They should
This can be done
In a countless array
Of ways that were perfected
By psychotics and maniacs
All in Marketing or Propaganda
These are one in the same
Except for their leaders
One having a real philosophy
The other a premise
Both spaghetti to work for
I digress considerably
The real point of all this
To express gratitude
To anything that can
Make unretractable mistakes
--
9.10.09
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