Stupid

Stupid poetry. I never appreciated
It’s fancy language and
Off, beat, rhythms.
Taking an idea,
simple and easy
And winding it around a symbol
Until it’s drowning in an obtuse fog.

Poets speak in parables
Likening pleasure to flowers
Or some silly nonsense
Saying pain is like raindrops
(Add something about tears.)
Half the readers never get it
They’re the half that won’t stop gushing.
The page like a burial yard for ideas.

Poetry is a gentle lie
A way to make raw emotion
palatable to a cultured public.
They don’t like sharp edges in society
So we round them off with words
And package them as art.

Welcome to our sterile world.
See our lovely philosophy.
We have no idea what it means;
So it must be good.