It’s good to have a job; it pays the bills–
Yet nothing like a solid poem thrills.
What do I mean by solid? Drop a deuce?
For so a poem that’s unrhymed and loose
Of meter feels to me. Why sing at all
If it’s just random beats or caterwaul
Of shallow gut-wrench nonsense with a line
Break every now and then to form define?
Our words evaporate like transient vapor–
If written down, they ought at least to taper.