POETS?!

(a postmodern sonnet)      
     
We poets are a mighty, twisted lot.      
With brains to make a comic’s mind seem sane,      
By using words with meanings that are not      
The meanings that those words truly contain.      
     
I write “two tunnels in that valley’s deeps      
Through which my throbbing nightly train would pass,”      
Could be of engines, stars and mountain steeps      
Or of our blending love… in words less crass.      
     
And, god forbid, that you should cross my lines,      
I’ll surely take offence where none was meant.      
Attacking with those hurts my verse defines,      
Though far from truth I veer, I won’t relent.    
     
So better almost any other choose,      
With poets like we are, you’re bound to lose.