cursed I tells ya

I would’ve preferred the finger skills

working the frets

keyboards

even being the butt of puns

as a stick man

maybe dressed in paint flecks

hanging off an easel

raving at the moon

about the light

some soulful singer

wailing out the tune

dressed just right for the magazines

feted novelist

pulping out detective romans

whodunnits by the yard

stringing sentences about posh people

working as lawyers private dicks

can it be that hard?

even an actor

lying to camera straight face

emoting with my eyebrows

half smile

measured in pace

but no

I got cursed I tell you

to write words in a line

putting down the thoughts

fellow feelings

I wanted the arts

& this is what I got

no one loves poets

& poetry portrayed by tv

is just another filler

in between the bores

for pills adbreaks pantypads

the death of you & me

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