I turn pages blanking so tired a little angry with you/myself words - wrapped in new fangled type-set offend me catagory - Poetry the temerity of minds whirring through rolladex’s with pens attached scribbling frantically staring at the wall for inspiration dry me My nose bleeds from inhaling your plucked idealism you call cleverness he called it imagination before that it was revolutionary Go away NO – wait - I will leave for if you even twitch in a backward direction the fool behind will shuffle forward in passing off himself as fresh and - deodorized thoughts reeking - transfer osmetically between shallow smiles and vapourous wit another gormless nodding inked dribbler oozing boredom chinways dropping ideas fumbled from your fingers to his we need no introduction we're generically related