The truth is
interesting line structure
ought to be a priority
but it is not.
Mostly, the poem cannot
be bothered. It sits upon
the page, not caring if it is dressed in
finery or polyester, the chosen prose
of idiots and men who use line breaks
to imply a level of richness
that simply does not exist
outside the Cheesecake Factory.
The poem would protest
but it has no words
that were not given it
by oppressors and those who demand
the poem play by the critic’s rules.
The poem hates the critic
and wishes murder upon his house.
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