They give each other meaningless titles
misdirection at every fork in the twisting road
self reverent obstacles instead of recitals
they have everyone trained with Pavlovian ode.
Life is falling in every possible direction
up and down and side to sideways as well
inside out and diagonally right outside in
we do all the saying that they have to tell.
Chatter is flatter when nothing does matter
words are now empty and flow vapidly hollow
makes us feel bad being a good for not ratter
to disagree with every truth meant to swallow.
Resolving disagreements with their internal bias
disposition is something they keep in their gall
pick and choose what they see and hear as pious
scorn and ridicule what they admire most of all.
Leave alone their nonchalant attitudinal emergency
live in the darkness and die daily like the light
dance alone till dawn with no one else particularly
see what’s sometimes wrong and do what’s always right.
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dead beat poet 