fuck you and your poetry

 
poetry is boring me
a river of introspection
from lifeless overfed cunts
as usefull as slugs in caves
too soft to get outside
and find the heart of life is not  
measured in meter and verse
but rather mucus  
and fluids much worse
 
it requires so little effort from you
to pump out  
another intellectual piece of shit  
and tread forever  
on the meaning of the word art  
just like every middle-aged  
talentless  
bored  
house-wife  
taking life drawing  
at her community college
 
at least she's pretty easy to fuck
and grateful
for it
 
red wine and a good time
again
shits all over poetry
 
here, online, are the gutless smutless wonders  
who don’t have the balls  
to take their words to the local pub  
and pound out carnage from fired-up lips  
to start riots and bring buck-toothed  
royal wankers to their knees
to please the crowd  
and say out loud  
what the people  
are thinking
 
no, not us, not here
here, in forums and chat-rooms, we forget
that poetry  
is the voice of revolutionaries
a scream of humanity more closely aligned  
to folk music  
than anything you’ll read  
in a Bachelor of Fine Arts  
from Prick College
 
take your brain  
off your pen  
and write with your heart  
or your cock  
or your cunt
 
cleverer is not betterer
 
where are the warriors fresh to the field
where are the lovers with new love to yield
where are the sailors homesick for land
and where is the writer who’ll die like a man
 
the poetry here  
is boring enough  
to be dangerous
because it is written by cowards
and praised  
by fools
while life is lived and loved and died
outside